A Bronze Crown
by SansaandWinterfell
Summary: There are no knights to save her. In the end Sansa must save herself.
1. A Descent

I got very carried away with this prompt, and somehow it turned into a multi-chapter fic.

Based on the prompt: he doesn't ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

A Bronze Crown

Chapter 1

In the end she could not count on men of the North to rescue her anymore than she could count on men of the South; in the end there had been no knights bursting through the gates. In the end Alyane, no not Alayne; she was Sansa and she rescued herself.

She could not say how it happened. She hadn't been plotting it, not really. Petyr could see a lie before it was spoken. She had asked Mya to sell a few of the finer gowns in her possession.

"As fine as they are I find them too short, Gretchel cannot lengthen them for me." The truths those were the most important part of a lie, "besides I fear it breaks my lord fathers heart to see them." Weave a kind spoken lie. Petyr had spies everywhere, if word got back to him it could only paint him in the best light; a grieving widower.

Mya passed the coin along to Alayne, and dutifully Alayne passed it to her father. She would later request coin to have a new dress or two made. He showed her where the coin was stored, and perhaps he had forgotten himself there, perhaps he had forgotten her. "This, Alayne, is where you will find the truth of most men."

She would not be married until Sweetrobin's death, father often talked as through the little lord had already passed. Alayne knew that could not be the case for the little lord crawled into her bed nearly every night. She grudgingly permitted it for although he would nuzzle into her breasts and wet the bed; the young boy was dying. He was dying and Alayne felt as though she was playing a part in it. Felt as though she were the cause. He was weaker every day but two years had passed since she had come to the Eyrie.

Father talked little of her betrothed, Harry the Heir, when he did it was to inform her of what was expected. That she would have to have a babe before they left to reclaim what was rightfully hers. In moments like that it took her time to remember what he was talking about. Alayne Stone had no claims.

Randa had talked openly with her about things she heard and it helped her remember herself. The Bolton's held Winterfell, and the young Stark girl was to be married to Ramsay Bolton. Alayne rarely thought of her siblings she permitted herself to think of Arya, a girl who would never allow herself to be forced into a marriage. _They do not have my sister_. They tried to arrange a marriage for Robb and could not hold him to it. Bran and Rickon were too young to consider the prospects of marriage. Perhaps she truly was a Stone, it seemed to her that a Stark would not be forced to consent.

Alayne was a bastard, a Stone of the mountain. A bastard had to make vows. Hadn't her half-brother made vows of his own? Pledged himself to the Nights Watch? Alayne let herself think of Jon more than her other siblings. When she felt herself falling too deep into the farce she found an anchor in her thoughts of Jon. He was more solemn than her true-born brothers, but she was learning that the title of bastard came with a seriousness. If only Jon would ride from the Wall, he was a man grown, he could save her.

It wasn't until she awoke from a dream of home, her true home that she had felt the shift. Snow had been falling, she was in the Godswood, and Lady was there. She stared into Lady's eyes and she told herself to be brave. When she rose and heard the wind whistling through the halls of the Eyrie she realized she was home, at least Alayne was. She was a wolf and she would wear this disguise no longer. She would have to save herself.

Littlefinger left the day before for the Fingers and she knew the moment was now. She took the amount of gold she had gotten from the sale of the ill-fitting gowns and no more, she may be a craven but she still had her honor. She had copied a map of the north in her own hand, she considered taking a copy of the south as a decoy but considered better. Bastards could blend into the walls, hide in plain sight and she was counting on that as she made her way to the Maiden's Tower for the last time. She slipped into her brown wool dress once more, added a second and third pair of stockings, and pulled up her boots.

Necessities she had to tell herself as she created her pack, anything more would be hard to carry. The ride to Runestone was bound to be long, she would have to acquire a horse, and even then who was to say she could count on Yohn Royce to help her. The only man to remain suspicious of Petyr. He had nearly recognized her once before, she hoped he would again.

She had told Mya that her father planned to marry her to Harry the Heir, truth. She was running away because she was still in love with a boy she met in the Braavos, the lie. Mya took her down the mountain all the same, Sansa suspected that Mya would have helped her anyway. She had climbed this mountain a Stone, and the mountain protects his children, Mya once told her. Would he be as kind to a Stark? 

Their descent took time, although with only two they only needed to rest for the mules. She was grateful that Mya didn't ask her more than she needed to know; the more lies she had to tell the higher the opportunity to slip up. When they reached the bottom Mya let Sansa stay in her chambers, telling her that she should wait until dawn to make for wherever she went. Sansa hadn't considered how cold the night would be even at the base of the mountain. She accepted Mya's offer.

At the foothills of the mountain she clung to her purse a bit tighter, and raised the hood of her cloak lest anyone recognize her. She purchased a horse off of a couple who looked as though they had seen the harder parts of winter. She gave them more silver stags than the mare was worth she was sure, it was something her Lord father would do and that gave her comfort. They told her to be careful, the road was no place for a girl, especially with rebels around every corner.

The thought of rebels nearly sent Alayne back to the Gates of the Moon. Sansa could not afford that, Alayne was a mockingbird, Sansa was a wolf, and wolves were brave. The ride was hard, she was hungry for more than her meager stale bread. She slept in caves, shivering for she had no fire, or the knowledge to build one. Her back ached for a bed, no need for feathers, a straw one would do fine. Her cloaks hardly kept her warm but she had to press on. She had not escaped to give up on the road.

By the ninth day she had arrived at Runestone. She stood at the walls of the castle, smaller than most she had seen. She found a guard and pleaded with him to take her to the entrance of the keep. It was a risk, once she would have thought any knight would help her, but not now. The risk was rewarded when she was led to the entrance and the guard sent a steward for Lord Royce. The steward who looked at her considered her dirty hair and ragged dress, but showed her to him nonetheless.

It took him a moment to remember her as Alayne, when he surveyed her from under his bushy eyebrows, she had counted on that. Alayne was easy to miss, unremarkable with sparrow hair and downcast eyes. Sansa would not look away, her Tully blue eyes were unchanged by Littlefinger, her mother's eyes, her aunt's eyes. She had to be Sansa Stark; the girl who shared the blood of the first men. She had heard this man wanted the Vale to support her brother, most importantly he did not appear to trust Littlefinger. She had been counting on the latter to influence his decision.

"I'll send for your father, he's probably worried for you Alayne," he gestured for the maester.

My father's dead she wanted to say. "Please ser," a touch of fear will not be out of place, Littlefinger's voice echoed into her ear. "When you came to the Eyrie you asked if you knew me," she could see he hardly remembered the moment, meeting the natural daughter of a man you mistrusted was not a notable moment. Each time he'd seen her since she'd been Alayne and she must have played her role well.

"I don't recall..."

"You were at a tourney for my father when he first arrived at Kings Landing," she could feel the words tumble out of her mouth. "One of your son's he is on the Wall and you came to our home before you brought him there. " i_Please remember._ /i"Once you supported my uncle's march, and when my brother chose to march you wanted to help."

He was no longer confused, she had watched the connections draw upon his face. Acknowledging her words as truth when he had though Petyr Baelish to be her father would be more difficult. "You do not believe me and I do not blame you ser. Anyone can say words, repeat history. I was taken from Kings Landing for my safety, after King Joffrey was killed. Lord Baelish has had me posing as his daughter."

There was a long silence, Sansa focused on keeping her breaths even, she could be going home. "You understand I will have to consider this," she had planned on that. "You will be welcome to stay here in the meantime."

Runestone was a modest keep but Sansa had a maid who drew her a bath and helped her out of her dirty gown. She scrubbed her skin raw, and took the lye soap to her hair. The truth would be more believable if she looked the part. The brown wash blended with the water, and when she climbed out of the bath she looked at her reflection in the window. iI am Sansa no one else./i

She joined the household for dinner in the hall. She had the maid help her into her gray wool gown feeling more like herself than she ever had before. Lord Royce had not joined them for dinner. When she listened she found out he had been meeting with an unknown guest in the solar since he sent her away.

She ate more of the stew than she had planned, it made her stomach ache. After her limited rations she had never been more thankful for the simple dish in her life. As she walked down the hall to return to her room she heard the deep rumblings of men talking.

"Cat?" Her instincts made her respond. She would not have been able to identify him on his face alone. She knew his coat of arms it would be foolish to not recognize the Tully colors on him.

"You have me mistaken, that is my mother. Or she was." She knew with the Blackfish making such a mistake there would be no questioning who she was.

She had to retell her story, this time she trusted herself to include more detail. The men listened to her in silence, treating her as a Lady. She detailed the plans that Littlefinger had confided in her; how the poison got to Joffrey's wedding, the men who were killed upon their arrival to the Fingers, and she detailed his plan to marry her off. His plan to own the Vale and Winterfell through her womb.

"He had me pose as his daughter, had me call him father; my father is dead." Her voice was sure, finally she could speak her own words.

"Petyr Baelish was always ambitious. He has been eager to prove himself to your grandfather since he was a boy." Her granduncle admitted. "If what you say is true he is guilty of conspiring against the crown on more than one occasion."

She understood the value of her own silence now as they discussed their strategy. She had given them a reason to confront Littlefinger, her role in this scheme was complete for the moment. They would have to return to the Moon Gates to arrest Petyr, of that much she agreed. The Royce's of the Gate would have to look after the Eyrie, sickly Lord Robert would have to be under a maester's watchful eye at all times. To take back Winterfell Sansa would need an army.

"There are many men here who knew your father when he was a ward here my Lady. He was an honorable man whose death was unjust." Lord Royce said before they retired. "Many of my men wanted to march on your brother's behalf. You will have an army." 


	2. A True Queen

Chapter 2.

Deep down Sansa knew she would have to return to the Eyrie, Lord Royce would not just whisk her away to Winterfell. The accusations against Littlefinger were to great to go unexaimined. Nonetheless the ride back to the Eyrie filled Sansa with more dread than she expected. She had watched Littlefinger at work, she had learned from him for some time. There would be no knowing who these men would believe once he started to weave his web. Lord Royce had prepared his army of a thousand men, and they trailed behind her.

Her granduncle rode beside her, he had told her about her mother and brother. She took comfort in the truths this man knew. Ser Brynden told her things she had heard before, from Joffrey. Things that Joff considered crimes against the crown, she hadn't allowed herself to feel the victories of her brother, his victories meant her defeats at the hands of the Kingsguard.

In turn she told him of Kings Landing, at least one person would know her truth. One of her kin had to know she did not want the life they gave her. The way they tossed her from suitor to suitor, only interested in her claims, and in bringing down the Young Wolf. "I had to lie, every day I had to lie. I never believed they were traitors," She told him as they sat around the fire. "My father wanted to take us away from that place and I refused."

"Your mother knew a lie when she read one. Even when they married you to the imp your mother knew it was not your doing." Sansa took comfort in that, her mother thought her brave enough. She had only heard tales of the Blackfish from her mother, she could see why this was the man they turned to as girls. Why her Aunt had him guard the Gates of the Moon.

"Before she died my aunt said something," she hadn't revealed anything from those final moments. Petyr let her believe the lie was as much for her safety as his own. She wouldn't let herself unravel the lie until she was safe. Her granduncle wouldn't let any harm befall her, she knew that. iFamily, then duty then honor./i Family above all else, she would be safe no matter what her words revealed. He let her rest against him, like her father used to.

She told him of those last moments, and the suspicions she had kept inside since her aunt had revealed. "I fear he may be the cause of all of this," her voice was hardly a whisper. "I had to lie for him, he saved my life. He started this war, I needed saving because of him."

"You were a girl then, you are a woman grown now. You learn from what has happened, and you try not to let it eat away at you." Her granduncle said. Sansa rested easier that night. She would be home soon, she had her blood with her, she was safe.

The Royces at the Gate took persuasion. Lord Nestor Royce had benefited greatly from The Lord Protector of the Vale, as did the other Lords Declarant. She had expected that. Littlefinger had done what was promised and brought much success to the Eyrie. Lord Yohn Royce met with the Lords and Lady in the solar, explaining what she had told him. Sansa could see Randa eying her as though she had never seen anyone like her.

Before they began the journey up the mountain Randa had walked alongside her through the halls of the keep. She had linked their arms in a way Sansa had grown used to. It was a position of confidence, one used when ladies whispered secrets, like Margaery, or Sansa when she was just a girl walking with Jeyne Poole. "I thought we kept no secrets Alayne," her voice was teasing. Sansa didn't correct her, "had I known you were a lady your pillow tax might have been a bit higher." She giggled, and it made Sansa smile. Randa would treat her the same as she always had, even if this was the last time she saw the woman before her she was happy to leave on good terms. They walked out to the edge of the mountain, still arm-in-arm, "are you to be a queen now, as you brother was a king?" Sansa shook her head; she had not considered calling herself a queen, she only wanted to go home.

"My brother led an army, he fought alongside them. I cannot lead a charge."

"Battles are fought by men Lady Stark. But it is a woman who moves the pieces. We can bring men to their knees with the bat of our eyelashes, once he is there he is at our mercy. Men, Lady Stark, require guiding."

She kissed her on the mouth and Sansa could feel her cheeks pink. "I should have known. I've never met a bastard who blushes as easily as you."

If Mya was surprised she did not let on, and Sansa though no longer a Stone had no fear. She had the blood of the first men in her, and alongside her was Lord Yohn Royce, and that same blood ran through him as well. She would be brave like her mother, and her granduncle rode beside her to remind her. She was no longer a lady acting as a bastard, but she could still feel that bastard bravery inside of her.

Lady Waynwood, Lord Belmore, and Lord Redfort took the basket up one by one. Her granduncle held her arm as they made the climb, she had always taken the basket as Alayne. The air was brisk against her face and as she looked at the earth, stone covered in snow, she wondered how she thought she would survive here. i A weirwood cannot grow, how could I?/i

Her granduncle tugged the hood of her cloak up as they entered the Crescent Chamber. "You will have to hide for just a moment longer sweetling, I will be right behind you." They took the steep flights of steps down and down and down to the solar. He only released her arm to bar the door.

She saw the look in Petyr's eyes when he realized that they had additional guests. She knew he wouldn't go down without a fight, it was against his nature. "My lords and lady what an unexpected surprise," he noticed Ser Brendyn, he noticed her as well. Sansa could see the wheels turning in his head. She was more confident after the ride up. After she had listened to the Lords Declarant she could see the residual distrust in Littlefinger. She had done what he would do, found the fault lines in relationships and turned them to her advantage.

"You must forgive me Ser Brendyn, my daughter is in the village, she would be delighted to place a face to my stories," flattery. The presence of all his former protesters at once was making him predictable. He needed to find his footing quickly, and flattery was the easiest, every man took well to attentions.

"You are accused of conspiracy against the crown, including the plot of the murder of King Joffrey. You are also accused of the murder of Lady Lysa Arryn. Do you deny these claims ser?" Lord Nestor Royce asked. He towered over Littlefinger, his kin behind him rested his hand on his sword.

"And who accuses me? Have I not the right to face my accuser?" His tone was deceivingly calm. But Sansa saw the panic in his eyes, darting to the Blackfish beside her. "Is it you Ser Brynden?"

"It is not Petyr, but you stand accused of killing my niece." Sansa could hear the stony tone in her granduncle's voice, he was showing restraint. She knew Petyr knew. The only other witness to his dirtied hands was dead.

"I accuse you ser," she tugged the hood of her cloak down. He saw the red of her hair, her mother's hair.

"Lady Sansa, I thought you missing. The crown still looks for you." He was quick, giving nothing away of his own plot. She had not forgotten about the bounty on her head for the murder of the king. "Of course if the Vale has been concealing you that too would be a conspiracy against the crown." Twisting it against her protectors, toeing the line of blackmail.

"Have care how you speak ser," Lord Yohn Royce had drawn his sword. "She is the heir to Winterfell, the sister to the King in the North." It was reminiscent of the first time they had been in this chamber, but they had not taken the guest right this time, Lord Royce could keep his honor when he drew his sword.

"Queen Cersei no longer sits the throne, all of her decisions are in question of the faith and will be overturned when they take her head. The same was done when King Robert took the throne." Lady Waynwood said. Sansa had known that Cersei no longer sat the throne, her head would go and Sansa would be free in every way. Petyr it seemed had not considered someone else being aware of that either.

"What will you have us do milady?" Lord Yohn Royce asked, sword still at Littlefnger's throat.

"I would have him admit to his crimes before any decisions are made ser," Sansa had folded her hands. "Before my aunt was killed by your hand she said something." Her voice wavered, she did not like to think of this moment. "You had her poison her husband ser, and you had her compose a letter to my mother accusing the Lannisters. You started this senseless war." She did not expect a reaction from Littlefinger, so she was not disappointed when his face remained neutral.

i He is guilty, they know as well as I./i. Lord Yohn Royce forced Littlefinger to his knees. iHe is the reason my true father lost his head/i, Littlefinger's eyes were on her, clean hands, he would say. She shivered. i He is the reason I am still alive,/i could she have this man killed when he had seen that she lived? iJoffrey gave his command, but he did not take her father's head. Would not hear his final words,/i her fingers twisted together. i Queen Cersei ordered Lady's head as well, but she had my father do that for her/i.

"Stop," her voice was sharp. She could not condemn this man to death without bringing down a sword herself. Petyr's smile curled her stomach, he had counted on her saving him. He knew she would not let him die. She owed him her life, it would only be right to consider things before taking his. He thought it was her care for him, likely he had not considered it was her father's teachings.

She looked to Lord Nestor, "bring him to a sky cell, indefinitely." Petyr's eyes darted to her, some men hardly lasted a day in the sky cells. Lord Nestor returned some time later, Lady Waynwood had taken a seat near the fire. Her pulse was racing, she had to regain control of her nerves before she spoke.

"I thank you all for your service today, and please know I do not expect any of you to accompany us to Winterfell. Winter has come, and your people are your first concern." Sansa had watched Joffrey hold court before, she had seen the way people clung to the words that came from Cersei's mouth, her confidence was blooming.

"Lord Nestor," she called. "If it please you I would like you to stay with a group of men to defend the Vale. Someone must look after Lord Robert and I know how fond he is of your daughter." Randa would stay in the castle, and it would suit her fine. She could manage Sweetrobin's tempers, and he enjoyed her presence well enough. At the least she could ensure a maester kept a sharp eye on him.

"It would be an honor my lady." She had counted on his acceptance, he longed to be considered an asset to the kingdom. She had learned that from Petyr, which brought her some guilt. iI meant it with the best intentions, so it shouldn't be wrong,/i Now Robert would be seen to, and should someone attack the Vale they would be prepared.

"I would like to see your brother's fight done," Ser Brynden said. "To claim the North as its own."

"Her brother was a king," Lyonel Corbray said.

"A King chosen by the North," Blackfish agreed. "We are what remains of the North. The Lannisters hold Riverrun and my nephew, Lord Edmure. We fought for King Robb just as we will fight for Queen Sansa."

"The Queen in the North," Ser Tempelton echoed.

"Aye, the Queen in the North." Lord Yohn Royce agreed kneeling before her. Soon the remaining Lords Declarant of the Vale agreed, bending the knee to her. iDo I not have a choice?/i Sansa wondered, iwas this Robb's choosing before me?/i With these people pledging themselves to her how could she refuse?

"The castle itself should be open to those who do not wish to fight," She heard her voice echoing across the valleys of the mountain. "It will not be punishable should you choose not to fight. Tonight I invite you all to dine with us as you make your decision. We leave for Gulltown at dawn, and set sail for the North."

Sansa dressed in one of the new wool gowns. There was once a time when she desired dresses in silks and satins, to set herself apart from her imaginary subjects. As she grew she began to realize there was no need for that. A queen was not how she wore her hair, or how fine her silks were.

She ate little that evening, instead she greeted each and every person in the hall. She could not be a true queen unless she respected her subjects. Her father used to invite smallfolk from town to dine with them, he wanted to know his people. A Farmer was no less important than a lord, a lesson she had learned long ago, but had only recently appreciated. She talked of petty things with them, and tried to learn about things that she knew little of. She could discuss politics with ease, gossip about little lordlings, but she could not talk about lands, and harvests as easily. That was what was important, it made an impact on the kingdom as a whole.

She sat beside her granduncle as the night drew to a close in the hopes of filling her belly before the long ride north. "You are good with them, your mother would be proud." He said as she cut her mutton.

"Thank you ser," she felt herself swell with pride. A queen is how she serves her kingdom, and Sansa was thankful that she had made an impact.


	3. The Nights Watch

Chapter 3. The Nights Watch

Sansa knew the road to Winterfell would be long. Her council decided that sailing would be the quickest route. They would land at Eastwatch by the Sea and march south to Winterfell. She would be eight and ten by the time they arrived. She gripped the rail on the deck with gloved hands, her stomach lurched. The last time she was on a ship she had been full of nerves, perhaps the sea would never agree with her. The wind grew colder by the day, more crisp, harder to breathe in. Winds of the north, Sansa welcomed it.

Their army was larger than she could have hoped for, two additional ships set out from Gulltown, one group marched from the Eyrie to the Twins and Riverrun; when she had Winterfell once more she would lay Robb's bones to rest. She held council with her granduncle, Lord Yohn Royce, and a few selected commanders from her troops. She wore her crown, one crafted out of bronze and iron, like the crown of her forefathers, like the crown her brother wore. It was not the jeweled crown she pictured as a girl, not many things were anymore.

"How many days until we arrive at Eastwatch?" She asked, the captain's cabin was small, but sitting down she felt less queasy.

"Three your grace," Lord Sunderland responded. "We can march from there, the turncloaks wouldn't expect an attack from the north." She nodded, the Boltons would have their due; they had betrayed her brother, their king, for a higher title.

"We will have our men marching from the south as well," Ser Brynden reminded him. Ser Brynden had detailed the camp the Lannisters kept outside of Riverrun, their seasoned armies, would easily best the battle-worn one they assured her. "We have the upper hand as it is."

"What of White Harbor? Have they consented to fight alongside us?" House Manderly was the most wealthy house in the old North, it would be best for their support.

"We await a response your grace. Lord Manderly has not taken side in this fight. He took Stannis's Onion Knight's head for the trade of his son. He has not marched with the Lannisters. The remaining Mormont women would join us if you will have them." Lord Sunderland answered.

"I will have any who remain loyal to the North ser, be they knights or ladies," she looked to Lord Royce "are our men prepared?"

"They are your grace," Lord Royce assured her. "They have had more time to prepare for this than other men. They have been untested in this fight and are eager to prove themselves." Sansa nodded. In a moons turn she would return to her home.

"I thank you sers, and know your loyalty does not go unnoticed." Her council concluded and she returned to her quarters. She tried to reclaim bits of herself each day, forcing herself to remember Sansa Stark. It would take time, but she would try through things she once loved. Her needle work was clumsy, and her unpracticed fingers couldn't get the stitches quite right. She would try again tomorrow, and the next day, she had time.

They had docked in the promised four days time. Sansa stepped off the vessel on shaky legs flanked by Lord Royce and Ser Brynden. As the men stepped off the ship their eyes drifted upward, the Wall was taller than she had imagined. She walked forward and pressed her gloved hand against it. She thought of Jon again, he should know about the siege of their home. She had thought of him during her time in the Eyrie, and in Kings Landing; she should go to him before riding south.

"How far is Castle Black from Eastwatch Lord Royce?"

"Three days ride your Grace, a small group could likely make it in one," he paused and looked to her. "Why do you ask?"

"I would like to go."

Lord Sunderand scoffed, "do you protest my decision my Lord?"

"I think it is naive of you to think that those men would respect any queen. The Watch is made of criminals, men without honor," he replied.

Sansa thought of her uncle Benjen, of her half-brother Jon, "a man's actions give him honor ser, not his post. In the North it was considered to be honorable to join the Watch." She clasped her hands on her lap. She would not speak again until she could stop the defensive tone in her voice. "We have a squad marching on the Lannisters as we speak to reclaim Riverrun and my brothers bones, to bring justice to what was done under guest law. There is another group subduing the Karstarks, lest they decide to ally with the Boltons." she turned to him "I believe that was your suggestion ser." His face purpled. "I will set off and rejoin the march in a fortnight."

"As you wish, your grace." Her smallest council remained, her granduncle and Lord Royce.

"Am I wrong ser, tell me true."

"I think you are thinking with your heart." Ser Brynden stood beside her, "your brother had your mother to fight alongside him. It is only right you should long to see your family before. Your brother often wished that Jon Snow had joined him." He was holding something back.

"I would like both of you to go with me, if it please you"

"It would be an honor your grace," Lord Royce said. Sansa knew he had a son on the Wall, she had loved him like a song when they came to Winterfell. That was when she learned the vows of the Watch, they were men who could never know a wife's love. "When would you like to leave?" She waited until her Runestone horse was brought off the ship, Ser Brynden fixed their packs to a fourth horse and they made for Castle Black.

The men dressed in black were a comfort to see, south of Winterfell it was unlikely to see a man of the Nights Watch. There were men and women in heavy furs littering the area as well. i/ Wildlings/i she had only heard of them in Old Nan's tales, wasn't the Watch meant to keep the wildlings out?

Ser Brynden had called their ride to a halt, their horses needed to rest. Sansa wanted to shout i can't you see how close we are?/i but refrained, she was a woman grown, a queen. Her desires could wait until the morning.

Their camp was small, but the fire was a welcomed warmth. Her wool gown did little good against the cold. They insisted on standing guard outside of the tent, taking shifts. Sansa understood their concerns, i they don't want me to be stolen/i. They did not know of the dagger she had taken from the Eyrie. It was dark, but shined like Widows Wail, the sword Joffrey had received before he died. She would not leave Littlefinger with any such dagger.

The sun cast a reflection off the Wall when she woke and she was startled by how pretty it was. She had never romanticized the Wall, or given it much thought. It looked like crystals under the sun. Sansa changed into a more presentable gown, one in dark grey. The tent kept the wind out but she still had to be quick. She braided her hair and tied it off with a blue ribbon taking painstaking effort to look presentable despite the unbearable chill. She left her crown aside, she would not go to the wall as the Queen in the North to treat with the Lord Commander; she was only Sansa going to see Jon.

She could hear shouting before they reached the castle. She wanted to press on when she heard a boy telling his mother "they killed him." Sansa trembled. She looked to the men on either side of her thankful that they had agreed to join her, it was dangerous here.

A dark haired man was running from the castle, conferring with a group who were outside. She heard the word 'mutiny' and saw a paper in the man's hand. her. A raven flew above them, it cawed so fierce it could have been talking. Sansa forced her eyes forward, the crowd was growing. "Your grace, perhaps you should stay back," Lord Royce advised.

She shook her head. Her stomach knotted worse than when she was at sea. "I need to get down," her granduncle helped her dismount. A wolf howled, her pulse quickened, and she ran. "What has happened?" The men turned to to her. Who was she to demand information?

"Who're you?" one of the men with a thick neck asked her.

"A northern lady, you hear the way she talks," a large eared man remarked.

"My name is Sansa, and I am here to speak with the Lord Commander," i show them respect,/i she told herself. iIt does not matter how they behave now./i

The silence among them was only broken by the howl of the wolf.

The handsome boy, the one holding the paper spoke up. "Lord Snow's been stabbed my lady," his solemn tone did not fit the tenor of his voice.

"Where is he?" Her voice sounded hollow.

"He is in the hall, they're preparing the fire now." he replied.

"A fire? Jon Snow is of the North, our men are buried."

"Here we have to take precautions," the man with the large ears stated.

"Will you bring me to him?" she asked the young man, the handsome one. He nodded and wordlessly walked her to the hall, they passed a group preparing a fire.

He was older, but there was no mistaking Jon Snow. Her knees shook, i I am too late, if we had pressed on he would be alive./i She knew the howl to be Ghost's once she knew the body to be Jon's.

She was kneeling beside him, praying to anyone who would hear her ido not take him from me too/i. He was breathing, scarcely. His gray eyes cracked open. The blood from his wounds stained the earth around them. iIf the mountain protects his Stone children, should not the Wall protect his Snows?/i

His hand grew colder in hers, she pressed her mouth to his palm. "You cannot leave me," she whispered into his hand. She held it to her face, trying to give him any warmth she had in her. His could hardly grasp her hair.

He seemed to focus his remaining strength to hold her gaze and said "Winterfell."

She was clinging to his cooling hand. "I promise Jon," she was shaking from her sobs and the cold. She pressed her mouth to his palm, "promise." His breath was shallow when he was dragged away.

She hadn't noticed the lit torch in the morning light. She watched as they dragged his body toward the kindling. "No!" She cried out, "he still lives, you can't." Her face was frozen from the wind and tears.

"If we don't burn him he'll be back," the wildling closest to her replied. She hardly noticed when her granduncle had hoisted her from the ground. The torch was set and the fire caught. Some of the men murmured their respects, "and now his watch has ended." They would say before walking away. As time passed, and the fire burned the wildlings separated, and soon many of the knights in black left too. She could hear the crow's call clearly now isnow/i. The boy, closer to her age than she had assessed, remained.

"Who did this?" her voice trembled. The dark haired boy looked at her, considering her.

"Our brothers, traitors."

"Where did they go?"

"They ran north of the wall," he replied warily.

She turned to her granduncle and he nodded. "Are there any men who know the land north?" the boy nodded. "Three of them?" the boy looked thankful for a task. She looked to her granduncle and he squeezed her hand in his gloved one. The boy returned with three men, two she had already met, and one older and gray.

"I will be back, your Grace." Ser Brendyn mounted his horse, and the three rangers joined him before taking off.

"You're a queen?" the boy asked.

"I am only Sansa," a Stark without her wolf; a girl without her parents; a sister without siblings. "Jon was my half-brother."

"I'm Satin, I was Lord Snow's steward." She nodded. "I don't think he would want you to catch a chill," the fire blazed so steadily in front of them she would have laughed if she could feel anything besides the pain in her chest. "I'll take you to his chambers, they have to vote before a new Lord Commander can begin."

Lord Royce remained at her right. Satin led them through the cold halls. "It's not usually so quiet," he told her. She could only nod, iI am completely alone/i. "This is the Kings tower, I'd take you to a room of your own but we seem to have a lot of queens coming to call. The lord commander has a tower of his own. They say there was a fire. Lord Snow saved the Lord Commander before him. The tower burnt down because of it." She could only nod, yes that sounded like Jon, brave and selfless.

His chambers were modest, a fire was dying leaving a chill in its wake. Ghost rose from his post at the window, white and red eyed, like the Godswood. His silence made her think of Lady, would she have grown to be this large? She felt her shoulders quake and buried her face in his white fur. The steward waited patiently alongside Lord Royce.

"Would you like me to take you to the sept?" Jon's steward was attentive. "Or do you keep to the old gods, like Lord Snow?"

Who could she trust? The new Gods, her mother's gods, carried her through childhood. The Godswood in Kings Landing was her escape, she had prayed to leave, and she had. She had not gone home. "I have prayed to both," she said softly.

"I have too," he held out his arm. "When I was a boy I prayed to the seven; I said my vows before a heart tree. If you want to pray I will take you to either."

She accepted his arm. "The Old Gods were Jon's gods, it only seems right to pray to them." Ghost, and Lord Royce followed them through the tunnels and to the other side of the wall. She was filled with a reckless sense of fearlessness, her bastard bravery. The was was built to keep wildlings out, to protect the seven kingdoms. She could stay on this side, away from the wars, the death. The Wall protected the kingdom, but what would protect the seven kingdoms from itself?

The walk took time, and Jon's steward filled it by telling her about the Wall's latest visitors. Stannis' queen and their daughter, but he talked more of the red woman. Her mockery of the Old Gods and the New, and her prophecies. The one she and Stannis talked about most, about a prince who was promised. He told her what he knew, just from accompanying Jon. She wondered where her Uncle Benjen had been throughout this madness, Satin told her he had disappeared long before he arrived.

She hadn't seen a true heart tree since she was a girl. She fell to her knees before the heart tree, it's faces staring down at her. iHow was I the one to survive this?/i Ghost was beside her, laying down he was as tall as her. iHelp me, help me do what is right. What my Lord father would do. Help my father, and my mother, Robb, Bran, and Rickon as they live with you./i She had no more tears left in her. iBring Arya to safety where ever she may be. Let Ghost carry Jon with him. As I carry Lady with me, she gives me strength, and courage; she brought me here. Let Ghost have Jon. /i Satin offered his hand and they walked back to the castle.

The fire still burnt, she could see it from the tower. She wished she could have taken Jon's bones back to Winterfell, the crypts hosted Lady, she could have done with the company. Satin brought her and Lord Royce a plate. Sansa invited him to join them, he declined. They had a vote to consider.

Ghost stayed, silent and observant. It made Sansa long for Lady. She curled her body onto the bed, still and awake. Lord Royce stoked the fire and sat in the desk chair. Ghost lay on the floor resting his head on his paws.

Lord Royce had fallen asleep in the chair, Ghost nudged her hand. She shifted over, making room for the wolf. He did not join her, letting out a low whine. She rose giving him a stern look which he disregarded. He began pacing at the door until her feet hit the ground. i He probably has free reign of this place, just wants out/i. She opened the door for him, and he whined. "What?" She asked him, "I don't understand."

He nudged her hand again with his nose, he wanted her to follow him. She found her cloak, tugging it over her bloodstained dress, she clutched her jeweled dagger. Lord Royce stirred. "Your Grace?" He stood up, an instinctive hand on his sword.

She could hear him following her, the way she followed Ghost. It was though she was having the most absurd dream. Her legs ached as she walked, ached from the cold, ached from the hard ride to the wall, ached from how little she moved. She had to press on, ihe is trying to show me something./i The wildling fire was dying, her teeth chattered from the cold, but Ghost moved closer to the fire.

Sansa followed staring at the smoke. iwhy did he bring me here/i? The kindling snapped, sparks rose up. ithere's nothing here but ash/i, Ghost was dragging something and she strained in the darkness to see. Her hands shook, ino/i. She rushed forward, determined to prove to herself it was nothing. "Lord Royce!" She called rushing into the remains of the fire.

Her heart quickened. She dipped down, "Jon?" she looked to Lord Royce. "He is unburnt," his pulse beat steadily under her palm. "He is alive, ser how is that possible?"


	4. The Man who Passes the Sentence

Chapter 4: The man who passes the sentence

Lord Royce was frozen. Sansa struggled to heave Jon's body up. His sword was still strapped to him adding more weight, and her body ached. "Ser, please," She cried out. Jon's body was warm, warmer than it should have been after being in the cold, and unclothed. Warmer than it should have been because he should have been ash.

Lord Royce was strong for his age and bore most of Jon's weight. They only found the chambers because of Ghost. They eased Jon onto his bed, his skin still hot to touch, Lord Royce pulled a sheet over his waist. "How can this be?" she asked.

Lord Royce hesitated, shaking his head. "I cannot say."

"Ser?"

"The Targaryen's, it was said, could be given life from flame under dire conditions."

"Jon was my father's son," she shook her head

"Have you heard tales of the Tourney at Harrenhal, your Grace?"

She had heard mention of Harrenhal, "briefly my lord, what does that have to do with Jon?"

"The tourney of Harrenhal was where Prince Rhaegar became enamored by your Aunt, later he took her to Dorne." She thought she understood, as a girl she knew that her Lord father brought a bastard boy back from Dorne. Robb had told her that one day, and told her never to ask their mother or father more than that.

"Your father brought him back from Dorne, where his sister was held by the prince?" Lord Royce sounded as unsure as Sansa felt. "It was said that Rhaegar sought a third son, a prince who was promised."

Her father rode to Dorne to rescue his sister, and came back with a babe. The king and queen had both talked of the kidnapping of her Aunt. She had heard King Robert speak fondly of her Aunt, his true love. Queen Cersei had told her once that if Prince Rhaegar had married her instead of the Dornish princess the war would not have gone on. Speculation was all she had, could Jon have been a prince born from the songs?

"We need a maester," Lord Royce mumbled.

"I will be safe here ser." Sansa excused him. He hesitated. "I have Ghost, I know I will be safe. Find a maester, and alert his steward. I'm sure he will be requiring food when he wakes."

After Lord Royce left Sansa removed her cloak and gloves. She was chilled, but Jon had to be cooled. She pressed her hands onto his cheeks, trying to take the excess heat. He had a scar across his eye, one on his neck, and three fresh, bold scars across his torso, from the attack. There was a burn on his left hand, was that from the fire? The Wall could not protect him, for if what Lord Royce says is true he is a Blackfyre. She brushed the sooty curls from his face, warm as a Dornish summer, showing no sign of the bitter chill of the Wall.

"Your grace," Lord Royce entered with Satin and a chain-less maester behind him. She rose and stood to the side, allowing the maester to examine Jon.

"Thank you for your help ser," she said to Satin. "Do you know what led to this?" She had not thought to ask it before. She saw him pull the paper from his cloak.

"He got this before he got everyone together." Sansa took the paper and began to read. The bold threats made her stomach turn, he sounded like a terror. She handed the note to Lord Royce. "He wanted to ride south, and he invited any willing man to join him."

She closed her eyes, ihe planned to break his oath./i Ghost nudged her and she rested her hand on his neck. As a boy Jon had always tried to follow the rules. Sansa knew her lady mother kept an eye on Jon waiting for a moment of inexcusable behavior.

"Some of the men wanted to fight, wildlings too. Some who didn't agree drew their blades. He ordered them to put them away," Satin went on scrubbing at his perfumed beard. "The penalty for desertion is death my lady."

"He had not deserted yet, they chose to kill him before he could." Sansa's tone was cold. "I am sorry ser, it was not your doing. Thank you for telling me." The watch ends in death, Jon had died and been reborn.

"He's asleep, he should wake soon enough. I can't guess how he survived," the maester told her. "When he wakes it will be easier to understand." She dismissed him. She couldn't stand to sit, crossing to the window. Four figures were moving quickly toward the castle.

"What will the Watch do with those men?" She wondered softly. She wanted them to pay for what they had done to penalty for desertion is death/i. "I am the rightful warden of the North, it is my duty to see that crimes committed see justice."

"We have ice cells, the greater punishment has been hanging." Satin answered. "Lord Snow had little desire to hang men, we have so few as it is. He only took Lord Slynt's head after the third time he disobeyed him."

"Janos Slynt?"

"Yes milady, he thought he should be Lord Commander, refused to follow orders. Lord Snow had his head for it." iI had wished for a hero to take his head, and Jon saw to that./i She looked to Jon, had he known the role Janos Slynt played in their father's death?

"Your Grace," Ser Brynden entered the room, "the men are in cells, awaiting your word." He was followed by the rangers who accompanied him. Ulmer, Pyp, and Grenn they had said.

"Thank you sers, I would like your council." She took her seat. "You know the penalties and crimes that have been committed. You vote on things at this post; I know you already have a vote to consider. I would like your men to come to an agreement on the punishment for these men, tonight."

**

She held her shoulders back and imagined the heavy bronze crown on her head. From what she knew a crown would be meaningless here; two queens and two princesses in their own right had been staying on the wall until yesterday. The crown was not what gave her power.

Three men shivered in the ice cells. She kept her face a mask, she wished she could give Jon the justice he deserved, as her half-brother. Sansa kept her hands clasped in front of her, urging them to stop trembling.

"Who are these men?" She asked her granduncle, her voice was clearer than she could have hoped.

"Bowen Marsh, Allistar Thorne, and Wick Wittlestick your grace. On the road back they admitted to conspiring against the Lord Commander and stabbing him." Ser Brynden told her.

"Thank you ser," she murmured. The eyes of the assassins watched her, the third queen in their midst in a fortnight.

"What gives you the right to sentence us?" The red faced man asked, Bowen Marsh, she told herself. You must know them and their crimes.

"I am Sansa Stark, true Warden of the North. Named queen by my kingdom," she had repeated the words so many times they sounded empty "You have been found guilty of conspiracy against your post, and attempted murder." The implication of Jon's life made their eyes snap up. "Were I responsible for what happens on the Wall I would have your heads, your men have chosen your punishment." The graying man, Wittlestick, smiled at that. Thorne visibly relaxed. "They have chosen to exile you beyond the Wall."

"But the Others, wildlings what of them?" Marsh's voice was pleading. She could not feel the sympathy she should have, could not make herself find the good in this man.

"Your punishment has been set ser," Pyp, and Grenn had come to the cells with her guard and tugged the men from the cells.

Sansa turned; she wanted to go back to the Godswood, but feared she had left Jon alone for too long. She did not want him to wake and find no one but Ghost there; he had been alone for too long.

Her guard walked behind her, she walked the familiar hall to Jon's chambers. Her dress filthier than she had ever imagined it would be, hair knotted from the wind. She was in need of a bath, but that was a privilege that would likely have to wait. She opened the door and was stunned to see Jon not in the bed, but shrugging on a tunic.

The door opening must have startled him for he turned saying "I'm taking my leave in a moment." When his eyes went to the door they locked on hers. "Sansa?"

"Jon," she had spent the last day hoping he would wake, she had forgotten all she wanted to say. She stepped forward to embrace him only to remember herself. Her bloodied dress, and knotted hair. He wrapped her in his arms regardless. She pressed her face to his neck, feeling his steady pulse. He was alive.

He released her, "are you hurt?" He was noticing the blood on her gown. She shook her head, and heard shifting behind her.

"Forgive me," She brushed the tears from her eyes, and turned her head to bring attention to the men with her. "This is my granduncle, Ser Brynden Tully," she gestured to him; "And Lord Yohn Royce, of Runestone. He's stayed with us before," she reminded him. "They are bringing me home."

A dark look crossed his face at the mention of Winterfell. "I can't let you go, Sansa, not yet." He went head first into a fire to save the Lord Commander before him according to his steward. She knew undoubtedly he meant to take back Winterfell and send for her. "Why are you smiling like that? Sansa it isn't safe at home."

"I know what goes on at home Jon, Lord Royce and Ser Brynden escorted me to the wall. I have armies from the Vale making their way to Winterfell." She had nearly forgotten how quiet he was, her hand was on his cheek. "I only came here to see you, and you were nearly dead."

He nodded, brow furrowed. She could hear Ghost licking the blood on her gown. "I don't know how."

How could she tell him their suspicions. He would never hate her for it, Jon didn't know malice. iomission is not a lie/i "If you would give me a moment to redress we can leave." He frowned, she dropped her hand. "Sorry, I have not even asked if you would join us."

"Join you?"

"To come home Jon. Your watch ended when your men killed you. They said it themselves. You live again and you can come home, if it please you." This time his silence was deafening. He could say no, she started wringing her hands.

"I hadn't thought I would be able to leave like this." His shoulders relaxed, the permanent crease in his brow disappeared for a moment. She tried to made due with her appearance when they left the room. She redressed in a navy gown, lined in gray. She combed her fingers through her hair, securing it in a braid once more. Jon had a group of wildlings who would ride with them once they were closer to Winterfell. "They're called free-folk, they aren't ruled by kings or queens."

She nodded. "Your grace, the horses are ready." Lord Royce said. "The men are growing anxious," anxious that Jon was still there no doubt. They were uneasy, whether they thought Jon would attack them for betraying him, or because he had all but risen from the dead she could not say. Only Satin joined them from the Watch, and if she were being honest she was thankful that the others remained. She did not trust how they had dealt with disagreements.

They had to acquire another horse for their fifth companion. Walking as a group allowed them time to reacquaint themselves, or acquaint themselves entirely. She was never a great rider like Arya, she had always preferred to walk or ride in a carriage. They would walk to Mole's Town, the closest village to the dismay of Ser Brynden and Jon. "They think it's not suitable for a queen," Satin had whispered conspiratorially as they walked arm-in-arm. She liked the way he spoke with her, it reminded her of Mya and Randa.

"We may be able to make it to Queenscrown tonight," Jon said to Ser Brynden.

"Queenscrown is abandoned," Sansa answered the remark. The walking had stopped, Jon surveyed her with his gray eyes. "Whatever unsavory things occur there I am sure I can say that Kings Landing was worse."

She hadn't intended for them to look at her the way they did. She meant for it to be a jest, Lord Royce and her granduncle's eyes went sad, like she was still a little girl. Jon had a dark look in his eyes, well, it was darker than it had been since they left Castle Black. His demeanor had shifted since he woke, cooler and solemn as before.

The sun was setting by the time they arrived at Mole's Town. Sansa's feet ached in her boots, and her hem was soggy from the snow that seemed to be everywhere as they walked down the worn down stairs into Mole's Town. It was crowded as they entered the inn, her granduncle walked ahead of her as though to block her from the mass to keep her from seeing the ill practices of those around them, Lord Royce took a position opposite, Satin held her arm firmly in the bustle, kind of him since she could have been swept away into the crowd, and Jon walked ahead to deal with rooming. Having an ever present guard was proving exhausting, it made her feel trapped. Caged like a bird.

The wildlings-free folk, she corrected herself, watched Jon with admiration and fear, she could hear their whispers. He had saved all of them, they had sworn allegiance to him when they crossed the Wall. Yet he frowned as he walked through the crowd, acknowledging few. He had a realm of its own at his fingertips, yet he walked coolly on.

He had procured two rooms, and meals for them. She sat between her granduncle and Satin. They began discussing their march, "we will have to do more than come at them from the north and south." Jon said, "we could do with distance shooters."

He had been thinking about this for a long time. Longer than she realized. Jon's knowledge of tactics would be important. Since she was two and ten she had been learning the political game, but she knew little of war. She listened as they planned strategy and tried not to be incredibly frustrated when Jon deliberately avoided her eye. He was keeping his own secrets.


	5. The Wild North

Chapter 5. The Wild North

There were days when she woke thinking she was in the Vale. That someone was going to wake her, or her young cousin would be crawling into her bed. She preferred those dreams to those of Kings Landing, she knew those would never leave her. iI am Sansa Stark, I am going home./i She would tell herself before climbing out of her bed.

Ghost had taken to sleeping beside the bed, acting as a fifth guard. He was always still as a stone even when her feet touched the floor; Lady would have given a shift of movement. She itched behind his ears and murmured that she had a guard outside of her door. He looked up at her with his red eyes, serious for a moment then he bumped her hand with his nose urging her to scratch him again.

She was breaking her fast when she heard a girl ask her mother why the sun slept so long. The woman started to tell her a story. The familiarity made Sansa turn on the bench, it was one of Old Nan's stories. It used to scare her as a girl, most of Old Nan's stories had, they had little romance, and lacked the pageantry she longed for.

The nights were growing longer, and the days colder. The last hero saved the world from the darkness with a magic sword. He rescued the realm from the Others; the Others who she now knew to be a very real threat. They were the reason the free folk passed through the Wall. iWinter is coming/i she told herself. Words she hadn't considered in a very long time. It wasn't a story she enjoyed as a girl, but perhaps the last hero was a story she needed to take notice of.

The oats she was given for breakfast were not the honeyed sort she had eaten at the Eyrie, they were tasteless and the portions were small; she thought of Sweetrobin, hoping he was eating well for Randa. The dishes were nearly half a size smaller than the ones she had eaten at the Wall. Many of the faces around her were thinning, hollowing; wasting away. iWho supplies the food here?/i

She ate slowly, and felt eyes on her, she had once enjoyed the feeling as a girl. Since leaving home it never meant anything good. She had known men looked at her at Winterfell because she looked like a Southron girl; at Kings Landing because she was betrothed to and later abused by a king, at the Vale there were eyes on her because she was a bastard maid, even at the Wall it was because she was a woman; did she stand out so much here among the free folk? She raised her eyes, the grown women wore breeches, and had faces wind chapped, and hardened by battles. Yes she supposed, tugging at her gown, she was noticeably different.

Word had gone around that a girl who called herself queen was among them. She had heard the phrase ikneeler/i generally followed by heads shaking. She wanted to help these people, see them fed, and settled in true homes, not just staying at an overcrowded inn.

Satin was sitting a short distance away from her, he was her stand-in guard today. She glanced at him he was chatting with a woman, she couldn't hear what they were saying but recognized the intent in the woman's eyes, with her hand on his arm. He was distracted enough that Sansa could walk through the room and meet these free folk, she could understand what it was they needed most, she could try to solve their problems. A queen was responsible for the well-being of the people on her land.

She stood and made to walk from the table. "I think not your Grace, the Lord Commander would have my head if I let you wander off." She raised a brow at her companion. "We can't have a lost Queen."

"I'm not likely to get lost among them," Sansa chided. "They are beyond the Wall now, they are in the North."

"They are free folk your Grace. They are no ones people no matter where they stay; they choose their allegiances based on what they know."

"They are loyal to Jon," she said.

"He lived among them for a time. He fought with them, he sent their chosen king to rescue your sister." iHe lived among them?/i She was surprised, they had been apart for so long, it seemed like he had been through more than she expected.

"Their king must think highly of Jon to have gone, but Bolton does not have my sister," she shook her head.

"He thinks the Lord Commander has her, you read the letter, your grace."

"You misunderstand ser, he never had Arya." Satin didn't believe her. "She is my sister, I would know." She asserted. "Arya would never be forced into a marriage." iNot like me/i. He didn't believe her, but she was confident that Arya was farther away than he realized.

She recognized the silence that accompanied Jon. A hush that would fall upon the free-folk when he walked through a room. She was not startled when Jon sat beside her, "if you'll excuse me your grace," Satin took the arm of the woman he had been speaking with disappearing into the crowd. Jon was frowning as he walked away.

She blushed at the implication, and it made her miss Randa. Randa's fearless honesty. Jon was silent beside her, his eyes were serious as they looked over the room. He looked like her father, ilike a Stark/i, she corrected herself.

She had just gotten her half-brother back, her only brother now. She selfishly wanted to keep the secret to herself. Each day that passed she learned more about him, not necessarily through his words, for he was a quiet man; she had learned through her observations. She left her half-brother Jon Snow in Winterfell, the man she found at the Wall was a near stranger.

In telling him the truth she could lose him. Nothing would bind him to her as a cousin. They did not share a closeness as children, not in the same way he had with Robb or Arya.

He was not her half-brother, the bastard magic was proof enough for her. The mountain had protected the Stone's, its bastards; the fire had protected its own. She could not tell him, not when she had just gotten him back. "Will you walk with me my Lord?"

Jon's attention turned to her, "of course your Grace." He offered his arm, "I am no lord though, just Jon."

Each day he walked with her like a Lord would. She remembered the lessons they had to take, sometimes she would ask Jon to practice with her. Robb never liked practicing, and Jon's lessons were far shorter than the true born Starks. He would walk around the hall with her and she would give him different pleasantries to exchange when he walked with a lady. Even then he had shaken his head, "bastards do not walk ladies around Winterfell, not matter who their father is."

"You mustn't do that," she chided, as she had in the past. "You know you are not ijust/i anyone. The free folk hold you in high regard, you saved them. You were thrown to the flames, yet here you stand."

"Forgive me my lady, but those are the reasons they fear me."

"I suspect they fear you because you do not let them know you, not truly." She had noticed it the evening before. His interactions were short, he was attentive but he did not linger. He only stopped to speak if he was called upon. The longest time she had seen him spend with the free-folk was when he was sparring. "From what I understand they have allied themselves with you, yet you know not what they need."

"They need land, and for now they need food." Jon said simply. "They like to do things for themselves."

"Surely they would accept help." Sansa said. In her days spent walking alongside him, Jon's opinions were offered rarely, but he would never lead her astray.

"They are accepting food from the Wall at the moment, and settling on the Gift when the supplies are available. That is the help they will take." There was a finality to the statement, that was all she would hear on the subject. She would write to the Eyrie and request some of their rations be sent to accommodate the additional mouths.

Although the sky was darkening, she knew it was midday, and some of the little girls stopped where they were and began whispering and pointing. "They like your hair," Jon told her, a little softer than before. "They think it's lucky."

Her hand jumped up, the copper color still unfamiliar to her. She had spent two moons turn at the Eyrie with darkened hair. Despite her dreams she had been feeling more like herself since the color had washed away. She idly fussed with a piece of it. "And what do you think?"

"We could do with a bit of luck," he said.

She turned back to him, expecting the smile she had seen the day before, when he had woken up. Instead he looked so far away, and sad. He had hardly looked at her since he woke up, when he did he had the same far off look. Like a memory was stirring, she recognized the look from her own face when she saw little boys practicing fighting.

Robb and Jon would play at swords, and she would pretend to be a queen. They would act out songs in their own ways, Robb was always the best candidate to rescue her from Arya, who always ended up playing the villain. He always scooped her up and kissed her cheek after he defeated the monster, and she had always thought that's how it would be. She had prayed for Robb to rescue her from Kings Landing. Her brother would never be able to save her like that again.

Jon walked with her back to the inn, "you're shivering." He was still warm, even as he draped his cloak around her. It was worn, in need of patching, it made her wonder how long it had been since someone had taken care of him. She remembered the Vale, Mya, and she realized it had been much too long since someone had tended to Jon.

Her granduncle and Lord Royce were discussing their route when she had entered the room. She was sure Jon hadn't noticed Ser Brynden's look, but she did. Like he had seen a ghost, he had looked at her like that before. When he called her by her mother's name at Runestone, he was not the first man to do such a thing, ibut he will be the last/i she promised herself.

"It would be in our best interest to leave tonight your grace," Lord Royce said as she took a seat.

She nodded, "I would like to write to the Eyrie before we leave." Jon shuffled beside her. "Jon?"

"I will follow your lead, your grace." He said. Jon studied the map with a furrowed brow, "Your men likely have not reached the Kings Road." He observed. Sansa followed his eye line to Eastwatch, "it will take them at most another five days to make it." Mole's Town was on the Kings Road, Sansa noticed.

"What are you suggesting?" Ser Brynden asked. Sansa's head turned at his suspicious tone. She did not have to look at Jon to know the quick clench of his jaw, or the way his hands flexed.

"I am suggesting we wait ser." Jon replied. "It will do us no good to ride toward Winterfell without an army. If we leave without the protection it would put the queen at an unnecessary risk." He had tripped over the word queen.

"Staying here among your free folk is no less of a risk," Ser Brynden responded with narrowed eyes.

"It may be a risk, but until we have an army the free folk are skilled with weapons."

"And how long before they turn against you as well?"

"I will hear no more of this argument." Sansa stood, iwhen did this aversion begin/i? "I do not know the free folk, but if Jon believes we are safe among them I trust him." Ser Brynden did not look assured by her declaration, and Jon seemed just as uneasy. She excused herself from the room to return to her own chambers.

Her chambers were empty, Ghost was likely hunting. The solitude allowed her to collect her thoughts. She had learned to read people from Petyr, he was not a good man, but he was skilled in the art. She had only seen him surprised once, it was because she was looking for it; gone as quick as it came. He would have been disappointed in her lack of control.

She ate a runny stew in her chambers after writing her letter to the Eyrie. Lord Royce brought her news that a wildling had arrived from the Wall, "the free folk live here ser, an arrival is no news."

"It's a woman, your grace, the steward said she is the Princess of the Wildlings." Lord Royce said. She had come to know the hesitation in his voice; the pause when he was trying to protect her from something. She would wait, she was good at waiting. "She insisted on meeting with Jon Snow."

She counted the seconds until a response would be appropriate. Anything too quick would be defensive, anything too late would seem deliberate. "Are you concerned ser?"

"Jon Snow has taken side with you. It does not look well for him to meet with a proclaimed princess. Not when she could likely raise the wilding army." Lord Royce was speaking words that sounded like they came from her granduncle.

"You do not suppose Jon could be working to raise an army of free-folk in our favor?" She knew that was not likely the case, the free-folk did not seem like they could unite as an army. She thought of Satin earlier in the day, Jon had lived among the free-folk, perhaps the summons was more personal. She blushed at the thought.

"It is a good thought your grace. Still it may be in our best interest for you to meet with the princess, to best judge her intention. Separate from your-"

"Separate from Jon, you mean to say?" she would spare him the trouble of naming her relation to Jon, she did not know what to call him herself. "How do you propose I meet her then ser? It seems as though he is my only connection to her."

"You are both royal women, with the power of an army. I am sure you will have more in common than you suspect."

**  
>Lord Royce was not correct in his assumptions. Val regarded Sansa with an amused smirk. Sansa would have to prove herself to this woman, which was where she found herself frustrated.<p>

"You kneelers and your queens." She said with familiarity to Jon. He remained unamused, Sansa had pleaded with him to introduce her to the free woman. He had fought against the idea, he had wanted to protect Sansa from the free-folk as best he could. "This is the third one I've met in a fortnight." She turned to Sansa, "what gives you the right to call yourself a queen?"

"I have the blood of the first men, I am descended from the great kings of the North. My brother-"

"Blood means as much as the crown you wear," Val scoffed.

"Queen Sansa has joined the mountain lands of the south to her cause. They have chosen to be her people, to fight to reclaim Winterfell." Jon said defensively, she was thankful for his words. Something he said must have given her legitimacy to this woman. Val's eyebrows lifted in surprise.

"The last time you brought me before a queen she planned to marry me off," Val said to Jon. "To give me away to some knight, wouldn't try to steal me like a man. You don't learn do you Lord Crow?" Sansa then frowned. "I'll have you know I won't be exchanged for anything little queen."

"I would never do that," Sansa said softly. Val laughed then. "I have been betrothed five times, once to a tyrant king; I was forced into a marriage with his uncle; before I was married there was talk of a wedding to the heir of Highgarden; my aunt wanted me to marry my young, ill cousin; I was nearly married again to a stranger before I sought help. I know what it is to be a pawn. Trust me when I say arranging marriages is the least of my concerns."

Val was truly considering her for the first time, regarding her with her gray eyes. Sansa's hands were shaking in her lap, thinking of Kings Landing often sent her into a state, made the marks on her back feel fresh. Being out of the Vale let her open the wound, and now she couldn't keep it closed. She kept her eyes trained on a spot on the wall, she would not meet Jon's pitying stare.

"What did you want to meet me for?" Val finally asked her.

"My council seems to think you have control over the free-folk; thought you would be able to rally them to fight for me." Sansa told her. "I do not know much about your people, but I know they do not do things because they are commanded to. You have no reason to show me any loyalty. If you were to ally with my men it would be greatly appreciated, but it is no requirement. The land you stay on is safe, and the food will remain until you have no need of it."

For the first time since she left the Vale, possibly since she had gone to Kings Landing Sansa was honest. She knew lies would not get her far if she wanted to earn Val's trust. She would lay her thoughts into the open.

"There's a greater war ahead, you know." Val had said before Sansa left. "Greater than the wars your kneelers play at."

"Winter is coming, I know." Sansa agreed. "I will not force my men to fight, but I will tell them."

Jon escorted her up the stairs in that quiet way of his. "You did well, she likes you."

"How can you tell?" Sansa asked holding his arm. She thought she had said the right things, but Val was harder to read than Sansa could have imagined. Jon shrugged, if he knew he would not say. When they arrived at her door he stared at her for some time.

"Father would be proud of you." He said softly. "So would Robb," she felt tears in her eyes. He kissed the top of her hand and let himself into the room he shared with her council.

Ghost was laying on the floor near the hearth when she walked in. He rose and trotted to her, allowing her to scratch his neck. There were rare occasions when Jon would play the hero when they were children. He would protect her from the monster valiantly, lacking the flourish Robb had. When he rescued her, he would set her on the ground and kiss the top of her hand like he had today. In those days she had longed for a song that could be sung from mountaintops. She thought her song had ended, but perhaps hers was a softer song.


	6. The Journey South

Chapter 6: The Journey South

They had left the inn with more free-folk than her council expected. More than even she had expected. The armies of the Vale were hesitant to accept the additions, men and women with weapons made by hand or stolen. Val rode alongside her, with a babe slung across her chest, making comments that often drew a blush from Sansa.

Her chosen council from the Vale was most cautious of the additions to their ranks. Sansa had insisted on Jon attending, ihe knows the land best of all/i she had told them. Truly she valued his council more than most, his wisdom of the realm, of combat, and the free-folk would make him an invaluable addition. Her council did not protest Jon's addition as much as Val's. i You believe her to lead the free-folk, it is only proper for her to have a say,/i Sansa did not tell them the free-folk made their own decisions. Her reasons were complicated, she knew Jon would consider her best interests when creating solutions; with Val she couldn't be sure, but she would always know what Val thought of a proposed strategy.

Val boldness was unlike anything she had seen before. When they had first joined the men of the Vale they eyed Val like a new toy; sometimes Sansa even heard desires of men murmured when they thought she was not listening. The murmurs had stopped once they saw Val sparring with the free-folk who had joined them. There was a fierceness to her that made Sansa long for her sister, sometimes Sansa suspected Val missed her own sister as much.

Satin had become her unofficial guard by day. The horse he rode cantered beside her, opposite of Val. He would mind himself well enough until Val's bawdy jokes prompted one of his own. They would laugh, and she would smile politely. iLet them enjoy what time we have, more war is upon us than ever./i

The animosity between her granduncle and Jon lessened on the road, she suspected they were trying to keep a sense of unity more for her sake, but she was thankful the same. There were some allies that were still required, some who had not gone with Stannis, some who sent few, not expecting the attack that awaited them. If they would permit her to go she knew she would easily convince the Manderly's, the mountain clans, and the Umbers alike to her side. She was not to leave the protection of the army, of that much they had agreed on during the latest council meeting.

She had been properly cross at their dismissal. Had she not done everything that was asked of her thus far? Had she not been chosen by these men as their Queen? She would not sulk, she had watched Joffrey throw tantrums when he did not get his way, that was not the kind of monarch she would be. Instead she held her head high and made note of their suggestions. Lord Royce would ride to the Northern Mountains, and attempt to rally the clans to their cause. Her granduncle had mentioned the Umbers' fierce loyalty to her brother, by the time they reunited they hoped the Mormont's would have come from the remains of Winterfell.

Jon had expressed his anxieties to her on their walk that afternoon. Lord Mormont had been the Lord Commander before him, he had convinced Jon to remain at Castle Black instead of joining Robb. The sword Jon carried had been a gift from the former Lord Commander. "He changed the hilt, it was a bear." Jon said as they sat near the fire.

"Satin told me you saved the man's life, the tower was on fire." She was prompting him gently. That was how their conversations worked, never asking direct questions, only encouraging the other to continue.

"It burned me that time," his gloved hand was between hers, she knew it to be the one that was marred by the flames. "I was named his steward after I took my vows." He shook his head. "I was angry, I wanted to be a ranger like uncle Benjen. I felt cheated."

Sansa instinctively kissed the top of his hand, "you obviously learned a great deal from him, to have been chosen as a successor. It would be a disservice to him if you were not to take your lessons and use them. I think his sister, and her daughters would be pleased to know of the influence he had on you." He gave her a smile.

"I find myself revealing to you than I mean," he paused and she braced herself for what she knew was to come. She had told him of her lesser guilts, as most of her experiences caused her to feel guilt. He knew of ser Dontos, her Florian. He had repaid her kindness with his own, he tried to rescue her, and he was killed for it. He prompted her about the Tyrells, making mention of the heir to Highgarden.

"Before father died they were going to let him take the black," she said. Jon looked surprised. "He would have to confess himself a traitor, but he would have lived. They never let me see him," she had to pause and reel back her tears. "Joffrey demanded his head, and he put it on a spike and made me look at it." She still shuddered, remembering the emptiness she felt upon the bridge. "I was alone, and the daughter of a traitor. They never let me forget that."

Jon's hand squeezed hers, anchoring her. "You won't be alone again Sansa," he had broken vows before, but never to her. She would believe him even if her proved her wrong. Jon never brought up what she spoke of, she would never regret telling him some of those secrets because of it. Only in the evenings, curled on her cot would she feel any remorse in telling him. Some nights sleep would not come at all, thoughts of the Red Keep flashing before her eyes, it made her uneasy. Sometimes she would lie there and will the thoughts to leave, other times she would rise and set about her needlework. The nights that sleep came were often worse. She found herself trapped and unable to wake, mailed fists, rolling heads, and blood, blood everywhere.

She woke, chilled to the bone. Nightmares causing her to sweat to her shift. She was out of her tent as quickly as she could move her feet, Ghost was trailing behind. She found herself in Jon's tent unannounced, he was awake as the flap opened. "It's only me," she whispered quickly.

"Sansa, what are you doing?" he was in his tunic and only then did it strike her that this could be improper. She was safe with Jon, and she had given up safety to propriety for too long.

"Do you remember when we were children; I would sneak into your rooms with Robb, and we would all sleep in your bed?" She walked closer to his cot. "I was frightened by the winds, and I knew that no harm would ever come to me if I was with my brothers." A small lie, for Jon was only her half-brother then, even less now. She watched as he pulled back the furs, allowing her to lay beside him.

Jon had tried to give her as much of the narrow cot as possible, there was not much room for one, let alone two with much distance. She slept sounder that night, dreaming of Winterfell as it once was. The halls were emptier than she remembered, and the Heart Tree wept as she spilled her graver sins before it. Jon was radiating heat, and when she opened her eyes she realized she was warm for the first time since she had left the Red Keep.

As they rode forward Sansa considered her safety, her ability to keep herself safe. She could not simply run to Jon anytime she was frightened, she could not count on her granduncle or Lord Royce to rescue her, should the time arise. There would be a time, she knew, when she would need to depend on her own skills once more. She approached Val upon dismounting.

"Would you help me?" She asked as Val fletched her arrows, the babe she called little Monster across her chest. Val's eyes narrowed in consideration. "I could line your cloaks, or perhaps-"

"I'll be doing everyone a favor if I teach you how to use that," she gestured to the dagger. "Just tell me why, that can be my trade. I'll teach you how to kill someone, if you tell me why you'd need to with an army who'd do what you say."

Val knew secrets were more important to Sansa than possessions. Secrets did not come freely, if at all, from the Queen in the North. "There are some things a woman must be able to do for herself, don't you agree?"

"Aye, but Queens have their men do their work for them. Any man you want dead and there's an army to see him dead."

"Killing becomes easier if you depend on others to do it." Sansa replied. Val held her gaze. "I have a debt to be paid, and I would do it by my own hand." Sansa thumbed the hilt of the dagger. "I ask this of you because you will not try to dissuade me, or do it for me. The man destroyed my family, I sentenced him to death before I came north." Sansa felt dread at the thought of telling Jon about Petyr. If she asked him to help her she would truly have to explain everything, he may insist on sparing her and take Petyr's life himself. She would never feel closure unless she did it herself.

"You're holding the blade wrong." Val told her, adjusting her grip, her correction stood as her agreement to the lesson. "And you'd do best not to wave it around like that." The tone of Val's voice reminded her of Arya, like she was trying not to roll her eyes. "Put it down and see if you hold it right this time."

Sansa did as she was told, until Val was satisfied with her grip. "This man, he hurt you?"

"He is the reason my father, my mother, and my brothers are dead." She answered.

"iDid he hurt you?/i" Val was not easily deterred.

"He had me pose as his daughter." Sansa said softly. "He often confused me with my mother."

"Then you'll want it to be painful." Val said in her sure voice. She handed Little Monster off to his nursemaid. "You'll want it to be slow, so he remembers every crime he committed against you." She set the knife aside, for the steel was too sharp for practicing. "You'll want to get him here," She pressed her mock dagger against Sansa's stomach. "It will be painful, and any man who hurts you deserves pain."

Sansa was horrified and touched. She had not suspected that Val liked her company much, in comparison to the free-folk, or some of the men. "I could not... I want it to be quick," she sputtered. "I owe him a quick death."

"A kinder fate than he deserves," Val scoffed at her. "If you want it to be quick you start here," Val dragged her forefinger across Sansa's throat. "He'll bleed nice and quick." She had Sansa demonstrate where she was to aim her blade before calling their lesson to a close. "Where'd you get that knife?" Val asked her as they took their lunch by one of the small fires.

"I stole it," Sansa replied, Val liked that answer.

"Killing a man with his own knife, he deserves it." Val said with such conviction Sansa almost believed her. The nursemaid returned the babe to Val.

"It's good of you, raising your sister's son." Sansa changed the subject.

"He's not Dalla's, but his life saved her boy's, it will work itself out." Val told her. "I'll never forgive the crow for taking my family from me, but I know why he did it. He's got a good heart, your Jon Snow." She lifted her chin toward him. "I'll return the little Monster to his mother, when it's safe."

Sansa tried to sleep that night. Ghost had gone hunting, leaving her more chilled than usual. She had spoken more than usual today of things she would do her best to forget once she was home once more. Satin sat guard outside of her tent, he turned when she was trying to walk out. When he couldn't get her to turn back around He insisted on escorting her, at the least. The walk to Jon's tent seemed shorter than the night before. She still hesitated before entering.

"You and Val seem to be getting along," Jon had said earlier in the day.

"Why does that make you nervous?" She had teased. He did not answer, but stared intently at the ground. "There are times when I must seek the help of others Jon."

He had not held that against her as she curled up in his bed. When she cried he stroked her hair. She wanted to tell him, have him understand that she may never be the same. Instead he held her until she stopped shaking, and fell asleep in his arms.

It became another part of their lives, like their walks. She would climb into his small bed, burrowing into the furs. Their days were for sharing easy conversation, getting to know each other once more. Their nights were unguarded. The cover of night let Sansa speak openly of her troubles, of the Lannisters, her sham of a marriage. What the pair of them wanted for Winterfell, for the North. Jon promised her protection however she may need it; he would defend her against the Boltons, the Freys, and the creatures beyond the Wall. The North was hers, and he would see to it.

Her granduncle eyed them suspiciously during the council on the fifth day when they entered the council tent together. Perhaps her evenings were not as secret as she hoped. She could not find it in herself to mind, each day she moved with more ease. When their meeting ended, setting into motion plans for Lord Royce's departure to the mountains the following day she returned to her tent.

She spent time in her tent stitching Jon's black cloak, she wanted to surprise him. She would have been better off making a new one, for how frayed it was. Perhaps when she was home she would make him a proper cloak, perhaps by then he would know the truth of his parentage, she could make him a cloak with proper colors.

iIt will suffice,/i she told herself as she held it up. She carried it across the camp, guarding herself against the winter chill in the air. "Jon?" she called as she tugged the flap to the side. "What are you doing?" she asked although she knew the answer. He was setting his things into a pack purposefully, avoiding her eye. She struggled to push the panic in her chest away, iOnly the pack survives,/i she could hear her father say. iI have been a lone wolf before. It was only a matter of time before he left/i.

"I will be going with Lord Royce to the Mountains." He said shortly.

She took a breath, it was temporary, but then so was Robb's departure from Winterfell. "When was this decided?" She spoke little during the war council, save for giving the final approval on large moves. It had been her idea to gather the mountain clans, or to try. It was her plan to send Lord Royce, blood of the first men, when she was told she should not go.

"I have the look of the North, Lord Royce may need help. It will be better for a pair to lead the van, instead of just one man." It was a good plan, she should have thought of it herself. "Ser Brynden will remain with you, as will Satin and Val. You'll be safe."

"It is not my safety I am concerned for," she told him. "You'll come back?"

He finally looked away from his task. "Of course I'll come back," he walked the short distance to her. "I promised didn't I?" He held her face in his hands, as he did when he saw her at the Wall.

"You did," she agreed. iBut promises can be broken/i.

"It will only be a fortnight, but I will return." His hands fell from her face. "If you didn't know, why did you come here?"

She had almost forgotten. She extended the black cloak. "I never gave it back to you." He took it from her hands and shook it out, intending to wear it, if only to blend in. Her face was still warm where his hands were, the cloak was only a formality.

"You fixed it?" she nodded, his awestruck face saddened her as much as pleased her. "Thank you," he leaned toward her then hesitated, instead drawing her into an embrace. They had done this before, as children, and when they had reunited. There was a tension she could not, no would not give name to, that hadn't been present before.

"I suppose you'll be needing it, in the mountains." She remarked lightly forcing a smile. She acted with no pretenses that night, when she walked to his tent. She was frightened, Jon could leave on this mission and not return; they would not be safe until they were at Winterfell once more. Even then the stone walls could not keep sweet Bran and wild Rickon safe. iWe were not brought together only to be torn apart/i, she told herself. iEven the gods are not that cruel./i 

Notes: Ok so agouraki asked if there were any canon references to Targaryens, and flames, and rebirth. Nope, I was trying to find that out myself when I read that GRRM said expressly that Dany being brought back was a one-time-thing. So I figured every Targ gets a one time pass :) Thank you all for your follows, reviews and favorites!


	7. The Last Hearth

Chapter 7: The Last Hearth

The representatives of the Vale were growing increasingly impatient as they waited to attack. In turn Sansa was growing impatient with her small council, nothing she said would make them understand that these Boltons were more capable of trickery than they realized. She would have armies of capable men and women, she would have their trust, not their fear.

"We've received word that a Targaryen sits the Iron Throne your grace." Lord Sunderland said. "A young man."

"The North has no interest in the Iron Throne, my lord." Ser Brynden said sternly.

"We could put Queen Sansa on the throne, she must marry. Why not marry a king?" Lord Corbray chimed in.

"You mean to tell your queen what she must do?" Ser Brynden asked. Sansa was thankful for his trust in her decisions, this argument was making her feel like a child, or an object for trading.

"No disrespect is meant your grace, but it is expected of a woman to marry, to produce heirs." Lord Corbray said with a polite nod in her direction. Sansa could see Val's fingers itching for her dirk and gave her a reprimanding look. The past week of council meetings was leaning toward the direction of her marriage.

Val scoffed. "These aren't matters I'd expect a wildling to understand." Lord Sunderland shot at her.

"Val is my guest ser, mind your tone." Sansa reminded him. "I have no interest in Kings Landing, as I've told you before. When I marry again it will not be to forge an alliance, I am not a pawn." She willed herself to be patient with her men, patient as a mother was with her sons.

"You're a queen," Ser Brynden affirmed. "And no one will force you into a marriage you do not want." She dismissed the meeting.

"They are growing restless." She remarked to her granduncle. "They want war, they want peace. They throw marriage prospects at me freer than they do arrows. Soon I expect they'll try to marry me to the Bolton to settle this conflict."

"I would lock them away before they could do that to you," her granduncle promised with a kiss to the crown of her head. "Your safety is paramount to me." Despite his fearsome reputation Ser Brynden was attentive like her father. He never made her feel silly when anyone else would have insisted a Queen marry.

Val insisted on teaching her a new knife trick. "I don't trust them. If they marry you off it won't be to some gentle knight." Sansa opened her mouth to protest, no one could make her marry again. "These southron men think they have all the control. They've waited until the right time to bring it up." Sansa was suspicious of the timing as well. She no longer had Lord Royce, who all the Lords and knights knew, or Jon who they seemed to fear. She had her granduncle who garnered their respect with his knowledge of the Vale, the North, and the Riverlands but they held no affection for Val.

Val showed her a spot to run her blade. "If they marry you off, if a man tries to bed you, you get him here." She pressed a finger against her inner thigh. "He will bleed, he will deserve it."

Sansa awaited the arrival of the Mormont's as they neared the Last Hearth. Her men needed a change, their restlessness would calm once the addition was made. The free-folk were warming up to her, in their own way. Perhaps it was only because they saw how Val had taken to her, or that Val trusted her with the little Monster, who they thought to be their prince.

Val took Sansa's interest in the babe as an opportunity. Sansa was now permitted to take him from the nursemaid, Val would be able to spar without interruption. For how disinterested Val acted about the babe, only keeping him safe so her sister's would be, the little Monster was hardly allowed from her sight.

Sansa had taken to little distractions. Val took her to a stream where she learned to scrub mud out of her dresses. It was not an enjoyable task, certainly not one she would continue at the castle. She would have to find maids to tend to things throughout the castle, and she would not want to subject one person to this alone. She busied herself in sewing a direwolf banner that could be raised alongside those of the Vale. She would sing to the little Monster, although she didn't find it an acceptable name for such a sweet thing, Val insisted. Still her nights were restless.

She tried staying awake all night, it was when she started her banner, but that hadn't worked. She only woke up from her nightmares exhausted. Before she had known her nightmares were not real when she rose. When she was in the Eyrie she would know she wasn't in the Red Keep, that bruises wouldn't bloom on her skin. As she traveled she could at least comfort herself in knowing her dreams of the Eyrie were not real. She would not fall from the Moon Door at her cousins command, or feel Littlefinger's mouth upon hers in the waking world. Her nightmares were much worse for she had no way of knowing they were false.

Now Sansa dreamed of Jon, dead at the Wall, dead in the Mountains, she could never move for she was not there. She had seen him nearly dead once before, and when she woke she could not comfort herself in knowing that he lived. Other nights she dreamed of Arya, she only knew her in her dreams to be Arya for she did not look like her sister. Slipping into shadows like she, no Alayne, had done before. She carried a sword, and the look in her eyes unnerved Sansa.

When she woke up she would pull the furs over her head, like she had once taught Bran. She needed to know they were safe, the last of her family. Satin walked with her to the Godswood in the Last Hearth after they had broken bread. She knelt before the tree as she had beyond the Wall. _I need a sign, tell me they are unharmed,_ the breeze rustled the red leaves and her hair. Satin stood at the edge of the clearing, giving her privacy. She waited for her sign, waited until the winter sun began to set, waited until her fingers grew numb beneath her gloves. Nothing. She pressed her hand to the tree, finding her footing, and she saw it.

A wolf in the Riverlands, a direwolf, _Nymeria_. Hunting and alive, just as Arya was. Jon with Ghost at his side before a heart tree, battered but well. She heard Bran's voice in the wind, telling her things would be fine. She leaned against the tree with all her weight, the terror lifted from her shoulders, if it had been any other voice she may not have trusted it. Bran was watching over her, her sweet brother.

She was offered a room in the keep, but was told that none of her free-folk were welcome within. She kept a neutral face at that and requested instead that they were able to make camp outside. Lady Mormont and two of her daughters arrived at their camp two days into their stay. They kneeled before Sansa in her council tent, which served as her solar as well.

Val sat beside her, Satin stood next to her. It was important for the North to know the free-folk meant no harm, they would help, and their alliance would be necessary later for the coming winter. "Your grace we were pleased to learn of your escape from Kings Landing," Lady Mormont said. "Have you escaped your marriage to the Lannister as well?"

"My marriage is not dissolved, if that is your question. I was forced to accept a cloak from a man I did not want, I would not kneel to him." She had rehearsed this in her head a thousand times over.

"But your marriage,"

"Was not a true one and needs no dissolving." She knew her tone was clipped. Littlefinger had told her that. So long as she remained a maid her marriage to Lord Tyrion would dissolve itself.

"I do not mean to upset you your grace. Your marriage caused a shift in your brother, the King's, camp before he died. I-" She looked to Val and Satin. "May I speak with you privately?"

"Val has no interest in politics Lady Mormont, I trust her to take what you say in confidence." She chanced a glance at Val who was fussing with Monster. "Satin has managed to keep many of my secrets, what you say will not leave my tent."

"I say this not as a question to your right, but to let you know, the King changed his will before he died. The line of succession, your grace." Sansa schooled her face into a neutral mask. "He legitimized your father's bastard, Jon Snow, and named him heir to the North." _Do not react_ she told herself. "He did it to protect the North from the Lannisters, your grace."

"Jon travels with us," Sansa said. "Should he wish to respect my brother's wishes I will not contest." Val, thank the gods, remained silent, listening. She thought the passing of land was near nonsense,i _who has any right to give earth away?/i_

"He wouldn't," Satin spoke. "King Stannis, that is Stannis Baratheon, offered him as much if he allied the Wall with him. He said no. Jon respects the Queen's right." Sansa smiled softly, that sounded like Jon.

"Of course, I just wanted to let your grace know. As a precaution, if someone were to contest your right."

"I thank you for your honesty my Lady. Would you tell me about my brother's march, and my mother." Sansa could not resist, she missed Robb so dearly. Her hero, the Boltons would have trembled if it were Robb marching for them with half the army she had, she was sure of it.

She listened eagerly for their tales of her brother, some of which she had heard at King's Landing, but instead of his betrayal they spoke of his heroism. She had longed for her mother before, but hearing about her wisdom, her desire for peace made Sansa long for her even more. She wished for her father, her real father, who always did what was right, the small folk respected him for that. She had the man who helped to raise her mother, her granduncle. Instead of Robb, she had Jon. Her cousin, she supposed. The kingdom had seen it's young wolf, but Sansa had a quiet one.

"I would like to spare as many innocent lives as possible on our recapture of Winterfell." She told her council softly. "There has been too much bloodshed as it is. I do not want the remaining small folk to fear my rule." The council pretended to acknowledge her sentiments, she knew they were only pretending.

"This is a war your grace," Lord Corbray told her. "Innocents die."

"I do not take well to your tone ser, I say the bloodshed will be limited. We will offer protection to those who require it, and swords to those who wish to fight alongside us." Sansa told them in a firm voice. They rarely heard her speak more than lightly. Her granduncle had smiled proudly at her.

She went to the Godswood again that night. She prayed for those who were lost in the war of the five kings. She prayed for the safe return of her envoys, and for home. She raised her hand when she was done to place it upon the tree, _don't be foolish, you only saw what you wanted to see last time_. She left the Godswood with Satin and returned to their camp.

"I'm thankful that you chose to come with us," she told him.

"Thank you, your grace."

"You've been a better guard than I've had in the past, I hope you would like to stay with us after the war is won." For a man who was sent to the Wall, she could not imagine Satin being a bad man. He showed her loyalty without question, and he kept her confidence, which mattered most.

"I would, your grace, if I survive the others."

"You will have a place at Winterfell for as long as you like." She smiled at him.

She worked on her banner when she heard the crunch of the snow outside of her tent. She only had a moment to be frightened before Ghost appeared. He bumped her cheek with his snout when he sat beside her. "I've missed you, " she whispered into his fur. "Have you come ahead of them?" He looked at her with his red eyes, she knew they weren't far behind. She combed the burrs from his fur, and the earth from his paws. She hummed softly as she went. "You know I miss Lady don't you?" his eyes were closed. "That's why you let me do these things, when you'd much prefer to wander outside, or be with Jon."

Ghost fell asleep on her cot, keeping her warm while she slept lightly, waiting to hear the sound of the horses arriving on their camp. Before the sun rose she heard what she was waiting for, she only paused a moment to consider herself. She secured her hair in a bun at the base of her neck, the only thing she could do on her own besides braiding it. Ghost followed her out, keeping to her heels until he saw Jon.

Sansa waited for Lord Royce and Jon to dismount before leading them to the council tent, requesting wine of one of the squires who had remained. For the most part they appeared unscathed, Lord Royce looked tired, she would check with the castellan of the castle to see if he could room within the keep for a true rest. She looked to Jon, he was scratching Ghost behind the ears with his head bowed, she could see no visible markings.

"The Mountain Clans declined your grace," Lord Royce said. "No one man would fight alongside us. They are preparing for winter, they said. They have no interest in fighting with free-folk, it was plain to see."

"Were they made aware of the threats posed beyond the Wall?" Sansa asked, they would not fight for her, but they should not die for that.

"They were," Jon replied. His eye was clearly healing, tinged yellow.

"Then your efforts were worthwhile." Sansa reasoned. "I thank you both for, rest and we will ride in two days time."

Jon continued to nurse his wineskin when Lord Royce left. Sansa sat beside him, coaxing his eyes to hers with his cheek in her palm. "What happened," his beard was coarse under her thumb.

"They found out the free-folk were settling under my authority." She gasped, not believing he escaped with merely a blackened eye. "I've had worse my Lady." He was smoothing the crease between her brow. "We encountered Howland Reed while we were riding back. He is trying to find Arya."

"Do you believe it's possible?" She asked, as she had his gaze she gripped his hand in hers.

"Of all the things he told me, I believe it is." He sighed, and his frown deepened. "He told me about my mother." She would not lie to him, she would not act as though she did not know. "Lord Royce said he had his suspicions after I was burned." She nodded, for they were her suspicions as well. "You knew," he said and she felt shame bubbling in her chest. All of Littlefinger's teachings had not prepared her for this, she hated the hurt in his voice. Hated that he had every right to feel betrayed. Jon rose, "do I have your leave your grace?"

It was worse than the cold, the steeliness of his tone, the formality of his request. She could have prevented this. "Will you return?" she meant to be firm and assured, but all she heard was the voice of a frightened girl.

His eyes softened for a second, if she had not been trained to observe she would have missed it. "I need time." She nodded her approval and he stalked out of the tent. She tugged at her cloak before walking out as well, Ghost not far behind.

"I think he'll need you more than I," she whispered into his fur, yet he remained. Deep down she knew he would find it in himself to forgive her, but things would change. If she was being honest with herself it was part of the reason she was concealing it. Nobody would look twice at a girl and her bastard brother walking together, even after all she had been through most would turn a blind eye to her sleeping in his tent. At the very least they would only talk amongst themselves.

She hadn't thought of Jon as her brother since they left the Wall. He was a near stranger to her, and she had gotten to know him as the man he had become. She had known it was likely he was not her father's son, had he come to know her as his sister once more? She knotted her hands together.

Ghost remained in her tent long after the sun had set, and supper was eaten. Lord Royce relieved Satin from his duties for the evening, she could hear her granduncle outside of the tent as well. They were speaking softly, not intending to be heard. Sansa had to creep softly to the edge of the tent to make out what they said.

"I am relieved to know he is not her brother, but that does not change the matter."

"I think it could only help strengthen the claim to the North," Lord Royce replied. "A Targaryen sits on the Iron Throne, he may be relieved to know the North will not contest him for it so long as it remains independent."

"We can hope. Cousin or not, he was her brother. I do not care for the way he looks at her."

Notes: I have a few ideas for next chapter I'm really excited to write, hopefully they'll arrive at Winterfell by the end of it.


	8. Ranging

In which we all have to suspend our realities of some things for the sake of storytelling.

Chapter 8. Ranging

She had not missed riding. Fortunate as she was to have a lovely palfrey, that could cant alongside her granduncle's mount gently; the rocking was wearing on her. She knew they would stop if she mentioned it, perhaps that was why she wouldn't. That and the ever increasing snowfall. The further they moved each day the closer she was to home, it would be worth it.

Some of the free folk walked instead of riding, the snow sometimes reaching their knees. Jon had remained mixed among some of their riders, she hadn't mentioned to anyone what she had heard a sennight ago. She knew how to notice the desires of men, what to look for, but she was not ready to give name to what i_she/i_ felt for Jon. Not when Winterfell was waiting, not when her council thought she was a little girl who needed a king to truly be a queen. Not when he was upset with her deception, there was no use thinking on something that may not be. He had not made any intentions or feelings toward her known, and she would pretend she was none the wiser. She was good at pretending.

"Your grace, are you well?" Her granduncle asked. She gave him a stiff nod, she could not wait much longer to be home. "If you are not comfortable we can set up camp."

"I can bear it ser," she wondered if his concern for her would ever fade. He had gone with her aunt to guard the gates, he had chosen her brothers side in the War of the Five Kings, and looked after her mother, and her uncle. i_Family, Duty, Honor./i_ It was nice to have someone caring for her because she was his family, not for any unnamed reason. She had known deception and ulterior motives in the past, she knew he meant well. She glanced back to Jon, her granduncle meant to protect her from others with ill intentions but she knew Jon was likely as noble as her father.

They pressed on. Lord Royce had called halt long after the sun had set, not that it mattered. She hardly saw the sun anymore. They built their fires quickly hands shaking despite the layers that they wore. She looked for Ghost who liked to skirt along the edges of the pack, occasionally disappearing. iHe must be hunting/i, she would have to sleep under all of the furs and cloaks she had brought. It seemed that it was the pattern of her days, wake, eat, ride and ride, eat, sleep. She watched the free-folk raise their tents and lay beside one another to share warmth. They did not shy from one another the way she had always know others to do, it was necessary for survival and there was no shame in it.

She wrapped herself in the heavy furs, doeskin cloak still on, and tried to sleep while she could. It had been an unintended help from her dreams, she had to sleep to feel warm, she would take bad dreams over freezing. Her rest did not last long, she was being jostled awake. Jon was shaking her arm firmly. "We must leave." The first words he had spoken to her since he had left her makeshift solar more than a week ago. "Quickly Sansa, Satin is readying the horses."

"Why?" She was alert enough to understand that they could not just leave her army.

"They know where we are." He was pulling her from her bed, gathering the furs she had slept on. "Ghost, he's found spies."

Petyr's voice was in her head before she had even fully processed Jon's words. He had told her so long ago not to react unless she was sure of the consequences. She counted backwards, trying to slow the race of her heart, and get the sound of Petyr's voice out of her mind. "What about my granduncle?"

"Val is rousing the men, we must leave before they get here."

"We could take them hostage, question them." She said as Jon pulled her from her tent.

"Bolton does not care for his men the way you would. He would likely kill them himself." Her granduncle was frowning from his mount when they arrived. Jon helped her back onto the palfrey and nodded at Ser Brynden. "If it please your grace I will go and be sure the men are seen to."

"On your own?" Ghost could only protect him so much.

"I will go with you," Ser Brynden said, steering his horse in the direction Jon had gestured. "We will be quick your grace," he said as Satin sat beside her. "We may have to strike sooner than we expected."

Lord Royce set a quick pace for the troops to follow. Her horse did not struggle to keep up, the chill in her bones kept her alert. She glanced at Val who pressed Monster close to her, trying to share all of her warmth. Sansa needed these people to survive the winter, she could not let them die. Once she was at Winterfell things would be easier. They had to be.

Ghost's muzzle was stained with blood when Jon and Ser Brynden returned. "There could be more," she heard Jon say. "We will have to be ready."

"We will be," her granduncle agreed. There was no distrust in their words, she was pleased, but startled. The sun had started to rise when they arrived at a treeline.

"Is this..."

"The Wolfswood," Jon nodded. "We can make use of the trees to hide our camp," He helped her dismount. "We are two days march from Winterfell."

They found a clearing as the sun took to the middle of the sky, slowly guiding their horses through the forest. The snow was not as heavy due to the tree cover, but it was still cold. She had taken the babe from Val and wrapped him in another fur while Val set up camp. She hadn't been allowed to hold Arya when she was a baby, but when Bran was born she was old enough to cradle him in her arms. She used to sing him the songs she knew.

Monster had dark hair soft as down, he rarely fussed, Val had done a fine job taking care of him. She hoped his mother was doing the same with Val's sister's baby. "Will you tell me about her?" Sansa asked Val.

"Who?" Val had taken a seat beside her but let her keep hold of the babe.

"Your sister,"

"Why do you want to talk about that?" Val frowned. "I don't ask you questions like that."

"I just thought maybe you'd like to talk about her, you probably miss her." Sansa said softly as Monster took hold of her hair. "Sometimes I think not talking makes things worse. Talking helps you remember them." Sansa hadn't been able to talk about her brothers and sister at Kings Landing, Alayne Stone didn't have any siblings.

"Dalla was wise as she was strong," Val said brusquely. "Mance took her for his queen because of that." She looked around. "Everyone respected Dalla, not just because she was beautiful. She helped Mance in all of his decisions." She looked at the babe, "she died giving birth to her boy." Sansa took her hand. "He has to live."

"He will," Sansa said. "My sister was strong, is strong." iArya is alive,/i "she always played with swords, Arya named her direwolf after a warrior queen," she let the baby gum on her finger. "When we were in Kings Landing we fought more fiercely than ever; now I would give anything to see her again."

"Aye, so would I." Sansa had never seen such a sad look in Val's eyes before. "Mance went to get your sister, now she isn't even there. They are keeping him captive."

"No further harm will come to him." Sansa promised. They sat in a long silence, broken only by the coo of the baby in Sansa's arms.

"You will be a great queen too." Val said in her quick way before taking the babe back, and walking toward his nursemaid.

Sansa grew tired before the winter sun had set. She forced down some of the jerky before rising. Tomorrow she would have to set a plan of attack with her council. She was glad to have some of her brothers supporters to argue for mercy. She would not put the small folk through a battle, if they wanted mercy no harm would come to them.

"There are so few of them left," Mage Mormont said in the council tent. "There's been too much fear among them after Theon took Winterfell; now the Bolton's have not shown them much kindness."

"If we march in with an army there will be no time for them to bend the knee to you, your Grace." Lord Royce said patiently.

"Then we give them an opportunity to relinquish control before the time comes." Sansa said.

"Absolutely not," her granduncle rose catching her thought. "You will not go there to arrange surrender."

"I see no other way." She answered him calmly. "They know me there, I am the eldest surviving child of Lord Eddard Stark."

"Your grace, I will go instead." Jon spoke from across the table. "I do not question your right," he said slowly meeting her eye, "Bolton wanted me, the less he knows of you the better."

"I would have you accompany me if it please you, but you will not walk into the trap he has clearly set for you." Sansa tried to keep her tone firm.

"The pair of you cannot go together. All due respect your Grace, you are the last surviving Starks. If both of you die then there will be no point to this war." Lord Sunderland spoke.

"The armies will see their queen facing their enemies. We will bring Ghost, Satin will wait in the tree line with the horses if we need to run. We will have the North one way or another, but I would prefer my people to welcome me with love instead of fear." She could not lead a battle, but she could arrange a surrender.

"We should go on a ranging, at the least before you go." Jon said. Her granduncle was the first to support the idea. They began naming those they would be accompanied by.

"You could end this faster and marry the Targaryen, have all of Westeros." iFive, four, three, two, one,/i she exhaled. Her face had easily fallen into a neutral mask. In a glance around the room she had noticed the way Jon's face paled behind his beard.

"The Iron Throne is toxic, and I will have no part of it ser," Sansa said firmly. "I cannot consider marriage until the North is safe." Her opinion on marriage had changed since she was ten and two, while she may not marry a king-to-be, or a gallant knight from the songs, she would be safe. She would marry for herself.

When the council agreed upon Jon and Satin accompanying her, Sansa had called council to a close. "Always the talk of marriage these men. Trade a woman for peace," Val scoffed. "They forget that there are more important things than marriage proposals."

Jon came to her tent that night, she thought he might try to argue with her, talk her out of peace talks before they began. Instead he remained quiet as they shared a wineskin. "You never let me apologize," she murmured when they had finished half of the skin.

"There is no need," his voice was gruff.

"There is though," She moved to sit beside him. "I didn't know how to tell you," she covered his hand with hers. "I should not have kept that from you. We always knew you wanted to know who she was."

"Your aunt, my mother," he finished, he had laced their fingers together, a gesture so familiar to them. "Rheagar Targaryen's son."

"I haven't told anyone else, Lord Royce only told my granduncle. Things don't have to change," she promised. Sansa had tried to pretend that things were the same for so long, when she raised her eyes to look at him she saw what she had been avoiding.

"Do you want things to stay the same?" He asked, gaze so intent he couldn't have been seeing someone other than her. She hadn't been so intimately close to someone in a long time, it was making her thoughts cloudy. Maybe it was the wine.

"I..." She had to weigh her words carefully, the impact they would have on the future of the North, and her own future. He had taken her pause as reluctance.

"I would stay with you, if you wanted me to. Even if things stay as they are, if the world sees me as your brother. If you never wanted to see me again I would go." He paused.

"No," she said softly. "Things have changed." If his hand hadn't tightened around hers she would have thought maybe she only said the words in her head. His eyes closed, shoulders relaxed, and he exhaled.

"Sansa-"

"Things have changed, but I fear now is not the moment to act." She ran her thumb along his jaw. "It is not fair of me to ask your patience, not when you have already given me so much." She turned and sipped from the wineskin again.

"It is your right to need time Sansa, it would be unfair of me to insist otherwise." He added distance between them, she was thankful for the cloudiness in her head began to fade.

"Will you stay?" She whispered, remembering the warmth of his presence after Mole Town. He agreed, keeping a respectful distance from her body as they slept.

Sansa put on her best gray dress, she would need all of her armors for this meeting. She would be kind and polite no matter what, she would listen, she would only answer once she was sure of her words. Satin walked with her to her horse, Jon was already waiting with Lord Royce, her granduncle, and to Sansa's surprise Val.

"There is still time to ready the army, we could march today, your grace." Lord Royce said.

"We will need our men in good health for the coming winter, ser." She replied gently. "They will have their war, it may not be with the Bolton's."

"I'm glad you remembered your promise." Val said as she sheathed Sansa's dagger in her boot. "I expect you to come back you know."

"Of course I'll be back," she hugged Val tightly, and felt Val pat her shoulder in return.

Sansa turned to her granduncle. "It's an idea your mother might have had," he said for her ears alone.

"If we do not return..."

"You must return."

"But if we do not, you must take back the castle, and hold it until Howland Reed finds Arya. I am leaving this to you ser," Sansa would not cry. "We will liberate the Riverlands from the Frey's, Uncle Edmure will be released, but until there is a Stark in Winterfell I trust it to you."

He did not argue with her and pressed a kiss to the crown of her head, before placing the crown, fashioned to look like the great northern Kings before her, on her head. He helped her up to her horse and looked to Jon. "Bring her back," Jon's answer was a nod.

They set a quick pace. "We should avoid the Hunters Gate, it would be unwise for their hounds to catch our scent," Jon rationalized as they cut through the Wolfswood. Sansa could only nod. Winterfell was all she had wanted since she left, soon she would be close enough to see the walls of the great keep. Ghost lead them ahead, the wolves had come again.

They filled their ride with descriptions of the castle of old. Telling Satin of the Godswood; Wintertown, where Sansa had only been allowed to go when she was with her mother or Septa; the Great Hall, where her father sat and where they ate. "He liked to invite villagers to sit with us," Sansa told Satin. "He always told us you have to know the people you are leading." She looked to Jon for confirmation, but he was shaking his head with a far off look.

"He sounds like he was a great lord." Satin said.

"He was," Sansa smiled sadly. She could nearly smell the smoke of fires in the village, and the food in the kitchens when Ghost stopped. Jon stopped as well and dismounted quickly. "Jon?"

He leveled himself with Ghost for a moment before Ghost took off toward the castle. "Lord Snow?"

"Something's not right," he said. "Ghost is going to get closer to Winterfell, but we cannot."

"How will we know if it's safe?" Sansa asked.

Jon hesitated. "Don't be afraid." He took her hand and sat beneath a tree. "I can see what he sees."

"Like in Old Nan's stories?"

He nodded. "It will be like I'm sleeping." It wasn't like Old Nan described, he sat still and she wondered how long it would be until he returned. She couldn't let herself worry, she would drive herself mad. What could Ghost have sensed though?

Satin sang her a song from the Reach while they waited. He talked about the Nights Watch, he talked about where he grew up. She knew he was trying to distract himself as well as her so she let him. She could not create a response until she knew what she was up against. The sun had risen and Jon was still with Ghost.

She started wringing her hands together, fussing with her cloak, adjusting the saddle of her horse. Jon shifted slightly and she and Satin were beside him in an instant.

"We have to turn back."

"We're so close." Sansa said. "We've come so far." But Jon was already up and leading her to her horse. "Jon tell me what's going on," she would not be left in the dark.

"There are corpses hung along the Great Hall, the earth has sunk in, there are parts of the castle that are completely destroyed. There's an army beyond the gates, we can't get by." Jon held her gaze. "Please Sansa, do as I say. We must go." Ghost was already waiting to lead them back.

She accepted his help climbing back onto her horse, she glanced back as they began to ride back toward the camp. She had to bite her cheek hard to keep herself from crying, she was so close to home.

Notes: I originally intended for them to have peace talks for real, but when I read through it I would have never in a million years made sense. A lot of disbelief suspended for this, but it could never look past that.


	9. Sieges and Stitches

This update took a lot longer than I anticipated, but as it turns out we are nearly at the end! I wanted to call this guy "a lot of shit goes down," but what can you do? Thanks for all the kudos and follows, it's always nice to get feedback! As always feel free to get at me on a href=" .com"tumblr/a which since my last update has become an independent entity :)

Chapter Nine: Seiges and Stitches

Sansa's council was waiting when they arrived at camp. Ser Brynden eased her off of her horse, she took his arm and entered the tent. They remained surprisingly quiet as Jon recounted their findings. "They know we are close, but we still have the cover of the forest for another day, maybe two. They only need to set their hounds and they will be brought here."

"And you saw them both, Bolton and his bastard?"

"Ramsay was not there." Jon replied grimly taking his seat.

"A guard will remain with the queen then, until he is found," her granduncle said. "If the rumors are true if he is out of the keep we are all in danger."

"The time to attack is now, our men march from the Twins. They can assist when they arrive." Lord Sunderland said.

"The Twins?" Sansa looked to Lord Royce.

"We just received word that the Twins have fallen, with the snow we suspect the raven was delayed."

"They have Robb then, and my uncle he has been freed?" It was hard to mask the eagerness in her voice, the pieces were falling into place, things were being made right.

"Aye, but it was not our men who did it. There's a curse on those Frey's, dying out by the day. Walder Frey's sons are dead." Lord Corbray said. "Ser Harold Hardying is leading the men north."

Sansa nodded politely. Her granduncle knew of the betrothal, if the other Lords knew they would likely shove her into his arms upon his arrival. "You believe they are close?"

"We do your grace, if we marched tomorrow we would have enough men to defend ourselves."

"Then we will march," Sansa agreed. "My stance has not changed, I would like as few people harmed in the siege. We will need able bodies for the fight in the north, those who lay down their weapons will be spared, any hostages may take the black." They laid their plans quickly before separating to announce the charge to their troops.

"Lord Royce will remain here with you and Satin until the fighting is done your Grace." Her granduncle said. "He is familiar enough with healing that our injured men can be brought here."

"Here?" She asked. "I will not be left here while my army takes my home, to await old news. I will be at the camp you set ser."

"My lady it is too dangerous," Jon said immediately.

"Perhaps it is, but if either of you died and I did not know I could not bear it. I will not wait a sennight to be told." Sansa protested. "I have seen more in my time away from the castle than either of you seem to remember. I am only frightened by the prospect of your deaths." She knew it was true as it came from her mouth.

"I will allow it, but as your kin I tell you you will not leave your tent." Ser Brynden said. "You will do what Lord Royce tells you, if he tells you to run you will listen." Sansa nodded. "You and Edmure are all iI/i have now. The gods brought me to Runestone so I could find you."

Sansa was sure he had not meant to make her feel guilt. Yet her stomach twisted at her granduncle's words as she walked to her tent. She sat with the intention of finishing her banner when Val walked in unannounced with the babe. Sansa lifted her eyes from the banner to see a tension in Val's gray eyes she'd never seen before. "What's wrong?" Sansa asked gently moving so Val could sit beside her.

"I want to ask you for something, but I don't know what to offer you in return," Val's pretty face was twisted in thought.

"We are friends, you don't need to offer me anything." Sansa's tone was light, trying to coax Val into responding. She took hold of her arm the way Margaery Tyrell had once taken her own, a stance made for confiding. "If you insist on offering me something why don't you tell me your need first?"

"I want the little Monster to stay with you, during the fighting." Val said quickly.

"You thought I would say no? Val-"

"What do you want in return?" She had cut Sansa off abruptly turning to face her instead of maintaining the stance Sansa had set.

"Val you don't need to offer me anything, of course I'll keep him with me." Sansa promised. Val did not answer, and her frown deepened. "You truly feel you would owe me something?" Sansa could not believe such a thing, she had known selfish people and she had known there were some people who did not trust strangers easily, but she considered Val to be a trusted friend.

"You know I do," Val replied stonily.

Sansa would have to approach this carefully, for she would have to give Val a task that was of enough importance to ensure her of the safety of her nephew, but it could not be so easy that it condescended to her. "Then in exchange, I want Roose Bolton and his son alive when the fighting is over." Val nodded firmly and stuck out her hand.

"We shake in agreement." Val prompted and Sansa reached across to clasp Val's hand in hers. "I will bring them to you."

"And I will keep him safe," Sansa promised. Val left after that. Sansa's banner was clumsier than she expected. It was easy to see where she had begun the direwolf, for the stitches were not as neat as they once were, it had taken her time to find the rhythm she once had for sewing. She hadn't done much needlework since her stay at the Red Keep, but it held it's message. iThe wolves rise again/i.

Ghost nudged her hand late into the night, or perhaps it was early in the morning. "I'll sleep soon," she promised as she lazily scratched behind his ears. She had to finish before they marched. She would have them know their queen was a still a true wolf. She had been forced into a lions den, and masqueraded as a mockingbird, but she would never hide behind those again. She was a wolf, like her father, like Robb.

She woke to the sound of the camp bustling in preparation. She had fallen asleep upright, and her neck ached along with the rest of her. When she stood her legs felt tight and wobbly. Her lovely gray gown was wrinkled and her hair knotted. iI will be home soon,/i she told herself, iI can live like this until then/i.

The army was energetic on the ride, but it was a far cry from the small group that had left Mole's Town. Val rode stoically beside her, and Satin was silent to her other side. On the eve of the charge they sat around fires sharpening their swords, fletching arrows, and stringing bows. The knowledge that some may not return seemed to linger in their eyes, in the way they held their shoulders. Sansa rose, Satin followed and she approached each fire, talking softly to the men of the Vale about their families, the free-folk about the new home they would return to. She would not let them fight without hope.

She shared a skin of wine with Val at the fire with Jon, Lord Royce and her granduncle. No one said anything when she laced her fingers through Jon's as they spoke. "Will you walk with me?" Sansa whispered into his ear as their fire began to die. She led him just off the camp, where the glow of a fire barely touched.

Jon pulled her close, her head pressed into his neck. His beard scratched against her cheek "I don't want you to be afraid Sansa," he murmured into her neck.

"I'm not," she lied thinly, shaking her head. She didn't do a good job hiding her panic, but he played along with her facade. "I don't want to talk about tomorrow, can we just pretend we're already home?"

"We're home then," Jon whispered pulling her to sit beside him. She leaned against his arm. Their silences were easy, and this night was no different. They could sit in the wood, away from the noise of men readying themselves for war and pretend that death wasn't waiting on the morrow.

When Jon kissed her it was warm, and soft. He held her face tenderly even as he pulled away. Sansa had been kissed before, by men who wanted something from her. Joffrey had wanted a queen; the Hound wanted comfort; Littlefinger wanted her mother; she could imagine that Jon only saw her. He kissed her again, firmer this time and she felt herself sink into his embrace.

She surprised herself when she chased his mouth with her own after he pulled away. She pressed herself against him firmly, gripping his jerkin in her hands. His hand cupped the back of her head, the other rested at her waist. Sansa gasped when he opened his mouth and slid his tongue against hers, Jon pulled away. "We should go," he whispered, forehead pressed to hers.

"Not yet," and she pulled him back to her. Sansa imagined that they kissed for hours under that tree. When it came time to part Jon helped her stand and pressed an apologetic kiss to her forehead, her cheek, her lips; he didn't want to leave anymore than she wanted him to. He hadn't let go of her waist, she knew she could convince him to stay, not just here, but with her during the siege; his sense of honor would provide a challenge, but she was sure she could do it eventually.

Sleep came hard to her that night even with Jon beside her. She rolled to face him, tracing the planes of his face like she had done before, the first time she had seen him in so long. Now he was more familiar to her, but memory was a fickle thing, she had learned that first hand. Nerves still bubbled in her belly, she wanted to memorize every scar, and the crinkle of his eyes when he smiled. He made a contented noise but kept his eyes closed. "It won't be long Sansa," his breath ghosted across her face. "You have an army. The Bolton's can't hold Winterfell forever." He kissed her palm. "You should try to sleep."

The armies gathered, and Sansa walked to her granduncle. "My brave girl," he said sadly, "remember what I told you. Listen to Lord Royce." Sansa nodded hugging him tightly.

She found Jon rallying with the free-folk, his eyes found hers and he took three strides to her side. "I won't ask you to stay," she told him. "Just... Just come back," he kissed her gently as a promise.

"I'll do my best," Before he left he kissed her knuckles, a gesture she had come to know from him since she had found him at the Wall. It was a gesture she so often mirrored she wondered if perhaps she had known all along that their relationship would change.

Val had handed the babe to her. "I'll bring those men to you," Val said when she mounted her horse.

"And I will keep him safe," Sansa promised once more. Val nodded and followed after the free-folk. Sansa didn't realize how long she stood looking toward Winterfell until the babe started to fuss. She joined her guard around the fire and they waited.

The fire cracked and popped and Sansa watched Monster's face as the sparks danced into the sky. "Really they'll have to come up with a name for you soon sweetling," and he stared at her with wide gray eyes. She ran her finger along the bridge of his little nose as she once did with Rickon. She was familiar enough to him that he could fall asleep in the sling Val often wore, but holding him gave her enough distraction.

His eyes started to droop closed, contented that he was not with a stranger. Sansa hummed softly to him as he fell asleep. Lord Royce walked through the trees assuring the group they were not being watched. "There will not be much to do until the fighting is done your grace, go, rest." He suggested when her restless night began to catch up to her. She did not want to agree, if she strained she could still hear hoofs echoing off the trees.

The trees rustled, and she could hear animals walking though, snapping twigs. Ghost's ears perked, but he seemed hesitant to leave her side. She had finally allowed herself to doze when a small band of her men returned. They carried me who had thick wounds, blood preventing them from carrying on. Lord Royce requested that she retrieve her sewing kit, and began to look the men over.

She watched the way he tended their wounds from the edge of the makeshift sickbay. He sent Satin to heat wine, while he used some of the melted snow to wash the patches of blood away and get a clear view of the cuts. "My lord, is there anything I can do?" Her feet had brought her closer.

"Unless you'd like to stitch them up yourself your Grace I don't believe so." Lord Royce said as a jest. As a girl she had found blood abhorrent, and would avoid it at all costs, while the wounds made her queasy to look upon she owed it to the men who would risk their lives for her to attempt to help.

She watched at first, noting how like stitching a hem it truly was. Those around her were startled when she took a needle in hand and stitched up the second man. "It's easy you see, nothing to be afraid of." She smiled encouragingly at the solider, adjusting the babe across her chest to keep her range of motion. "You've been so very brave," and she spoke on until the wound was closed hoping the noise would prove a distraction for the man, and it seemed she was right.

She made it out to the fire in time to hear Satin ask about the state of the siege. "Bolton is being held there while our men go through the castle. Many of the wildlings were injured, some worse than those we brought here. They fight like men possessed. They fear nothing." iWhat they fear is worse than mad men,/i "they've got their King back as well." Sansa nodded.

"Ser Brynden will ride back to the camp when it is safe for the Queen," one of the men had said. "They haven't found the bastard yet." Sansa shivered at that, Jon had not told her much of Ramsay Snow but she had been taught to listen to everything around her. She had heard things that made her shudder, she was glad whoever he had married had escaped.

iEveryone is safe,/i she told herself as she walked back to her tent, to tuck herself away and allow the victory to sink in privately. Ghost followed her in pacing restlessly, "what's the matter with you?" She asked him as she unwrapped the babe from her chest. She let him lay on her little cot while she praised him for being so patient while Val was away.

She was counting on her own body heat to keep the babe warm. She would be within the castle walls in only a few short days, Jon knew all of the hiding places in Winterfell, it would not take long for him to find discover any hidden men or women.

Monster cooed loudly enough to wake her, she would have to feed him some of the goats milk that remained. She spent the day helping pack up the camp, it was hard work. Lord Royce, Satin and the uninjured men asked little of her, to store the furs that were no longer in use in one of the wagons, to fold the doeskin tents that remained around the camp so the would be ready to depart when Ser Brynden came to bring them back.

Around the fire she jostled the babe to keep him awake, he would sleep through the night if he stayed up just a bit longer. "We were lucky to have so few injuries," Lord Royce remarked. "Lucky their army was much smaller than our own."

"We have had more luck than I could have hoped for since we left the Vale," Sansa said thoughtfully sipping on a skin of wine that warmed her blood. "Thank you for believing me, my Lord." She smiled before bidding the men goodnight. Like the night before Ghost seemed restless but wouldn't leave her side. It wasn't a baby's coo that disturbed her in the middle of the night, but the thud of a man being forced to the ground.

Ghost's teeth were bared, though he didn't make a sound and beneath him was a lank haired man. She grabbed the blade from the boot where Val had sheathed it nearly a week ago. "Ghost to me," she called and he quickly moved to her in a protective stance.

"You're my good sister," he said to her. "I told him I wanted imy/i bride, not a replacement." He sneered, worm lips curling. He moved forward and Ghost prepared to pounce. "You'll make a good enough game, but the baby will have to go." Her fingers tightened around the hilt, and the closer he drew to her and Monster the more she tried to come up with a plan. She struck him in the temple before telling Ghost to get help, she just needed to buy time.

Ramsay wobbled on his feet but remained upright, she hadn't expected to do much damage, she knew she was not strong. "I should bring you back alive, make him watch you die, like my father made your mother watch." The closer he inched the more fear she felt. iFather used to say the only time a man could be brave was when he was afraid,/i she wondered if the same applied to women. When he was an arms length away from her she pushed the knife into his stomach, the way Val once told her to do. She forced herself to look into his eyes while he died.

"If you have last words I will hear them." She heard her voice offer, it was only right. He was still dying when Satin rushed in.

"Your grace?" His eyes fell upon the dying man, sneer still twisted on his face. She was crying, she could feel the tears on her face, but he was going to kill the baby, kill her, he had wanted to kill Jon, he had taken Winterfell. Her hands were red and trembling in front of her when Satin pulled her away.

At some point the sun rose, and she was still shaking. Her granduncle had ridden to the camp that day, and there was shouting that she couldn't hear through the ringing in her ears. The gods were cruel, she had survived so much, and now as she was returning home she had finally cracked. 


	10. A Different Perspective

This chapter is from Val's third person POV. Shock can impact a person from 2 days to 4 weeks, so we're rolling with that. Only one chapter to go!

Chapter 10. A Different Perspective

Kneelers confused her, Mance said they were well cared for until the Starks had left Winterfell, but these Southerners hadn't rebelled the way her own kind would. Snow tried to tell her the bodies they had found were proof of rebellions, she scoffed at that, there were enough that if they were to rise together they could have held the castle.

"Not everyone is like us," Mance said. "It seems we are more like them than I thought, how did you convince them to fight?" He jerked his chin toward the free-folk, intermixed with Sansa's knights. The kneelers were learning how to tend to their own scrapes, and trading battle techniques; a good fight created a common thread between them.

"Their queen offered me her words." Val said.

"The woman at the wall?" Mance had a right to be concerned, the cold Queen with her red priestess and sick daughter had no understanding of her people.

"These southerners are from the mountains, they serve Lord Crow's cousin." Val explained. "She would try to get them to fight with us."

"She would try?" he was unconvinced. "She could turn around and leave us for dead, trying is not good enough."

"She said she would tell them, she won't force them to fight. We don't force our own to fight."

"You've grown soft in your time with them." Mance noted, she could only shrug at that.

"Soft doesn't mean weak," Mance's laugh boomed and it was a sound so achingly familiar it made her heart twist, inot the time/i. He clapped her shoulder and she could feel his grip through her furs. "Some fights are more important than others."

"Is that why you haven't killed the man who was holding me here?" He was still sore about that. She had to fight through several of the knights, eager to present the head of the man to their Queen, and when it became clear she had no intention to kill him everyone was upset.

"It should be done before Sansa arrives, she should not have to look upon him." Jon had said after publicly supporting her decision.

"She wants him alive when she gets here," Val scowled, how many times did she have to say it?

"She won't kill him," Jon said. Val couldn't disagree with that, she had taught the girl herself, killing would never suit her.

"Maybe she won't," Val agreed, "but if you take that choice from her Snow you're no better than them." A passerby would have thought she slapped him. He'd been avoiding her since, but Bolton lived.

"I won't break my promise Mance, she has Monster," her only way back to her sister. She had gathered a small group of free-folk so she could track the son before Sansa was brought to the castle. If he was in the forest she would find him.

"Val!" Satin was running toward her. Sansa must already be there. "We need you in the castle." Val could not accept a trade with only half of the terms.

"I have something to do." She grabbed her spear. "I'll be back in the morning."

Satin drew closer to he. "It's the Queen," his voice was barely a whisper. He didn't want to draw concern, but he wouldn't try to fight her unless it was important. She frightened most of the kneelers.

"Go through the wood, if you find any turncloaks bring them back here." She told the men from her group before following Satin down the path. He led her to a room well within the keep, and the temperature changed nearly immediately.

The Blackfish held Monster, Royce was guarding the door. She looked around the room, past the cracking fire to the bed. Snow and his wolf sat on either side faces wearing the same solemn expression. The wolf stared at the door, Snow stared at Sansa. Something must have happened to her then; Sansa lay in the bed, her hands were crusted in mud staring at the hearth.

Val walked forward and the Blackfish said, "we needed a woman to clean her up." Sansa's eyes were jerky like a fawn, scared, she couldn't look at one person for too long.

"Leave the pail, everyone out." Val ordered, and everyone hesitated. "If you don't want people knowing she's here you'll get out and let me do this quickly." Slowly they inched out of the door, the Blackfish set the babe in a makeshift cradle, Satin left a pail of boiled water at the edge of the bed. Snow refused to move and Sansa wouldn't look at him.

Val dragged the water to the side, forcing the wolf to abandon his post. "You can do this yourself." She said offering Sansa the rag, when the little queen took the cloth from her Val recognized what she thought was mud to be blood. "You're scared not broken."

"I didn't mean to do it," her voice was unsteady, like she hadn't been using it.

"Of course you didn't," Val agreed sitting beside her. "What happened?" Sansa shook her head. Scrubbing at her hands made a good distraction and they sat in silence. Her skin was rubbed pink before Snow placed his hand over hers. Sansa surrendered the rag before fixing her eyes back on the fire.

Val's patience was waning, she stood to check on the baby, added kindling to the fire. She was ready to leave, she had a man to find, half an oath was not enough. "I thought I could talk to him, keep him from hurting the baby until someone realized he was in my tent." Sansa was carding her fingers through Ghosts fur. "I told Ghost to get someone, he was going to be killed, but it was not honorable the way I did it."

Snow was at her side, anchoring her, she leaned against him. "I should have waited, but he just got closer and closer. He said he was going to kill the baby, he said he was going to bring me back here, he talked about my mother and Robb." She shuddered. "I had the knife in my hands, and I forced it through him." She looked at Val. "I never want to do something like that again."

"You won't have to." Val assured. "I thought southern queens didn't have to get their hands dirty."

"Since the Starks have held the North headsmen have not been used. I will not be the one to break that." Sansa argued. Val hadn't realized how proud this girl was. "I cannot lift a sword, and even if I could I don't think I could take another life." Sansa's gaze flitted toward Snow. "Perhaps Robb was right in making you heir."

"Don't say that." Snow's voice was harder than Val expected it to be. "The North is yours, those men have not fought for a queen who would stand aside to a bastard. You did not fight to get here only to give up." He was touching her face and Val looked away, it was a private moment.

"I'm tired of fighting Jon, and you have a right to a throne." Val hadn't heard Sansa mention Jon's rights to a kingdom. Everyone said he was a dragon now, but Mance said he was more like Sansa's father than people cared to pay attention to. Jon frowned at Sansa.

"Winterfell is yours, the North is yours; I will help you hold it however you ask, but you are the Queen."

When Snow had fallen asleep in his chair Sansa moved over in the bed and asked Val to lay beside her. "Arya and I used to do this as girls." Sansa said as she cuddled into the blankets.

"Dalla used to braid my hair when we shared a bed. She used to tell me stories."

"Good stories or scary stories?"

"Only good ones, life is scary enough to talk about it before you fall asleep." She felt Sansa's hands start to twist her hair.

"Arya used to tell the scariest stories,"

"Being behind walls, even if they're broken almost makes you forget what's out there."

"I haven't forgotten. Your people are welcome to stay behind the walls of Winterfell if they wish. They can help us rebuild it if they require trade. But I haven't forgotten my promise. You helped me take back my home, I will tell my men about the true war." Sometimes it shook Val to think of how much Sansa knew without a word being exchanged. "After fighting alongside your men I think they will be more likely to agree."

"Why?"

"Would you have left Monster with me in the beginning?" Sansa asked, changing the subject.

"No."

"Why not?" Sansa's voice was ever patient.

"Because I didn't know if I could trust you."

"Right, then you grew to know me." She was still twisting Val's hair soothingly. "Now, if I were to die, how would you feel?"

"Is this a trick?"

"In a way I suppose it is." Sansa laughed. "When you know someone it's harder to let them die. My men know yours now, they know at least one name, one story about their families. They become people. It's harder to say to no people than it is to say no to an idea." Val looked over and saw Snow smiling to himself, clearly awake ismug bastard/i. She let herself fall asleep after that. She knew Mance was wrong.

The council meetings were worse with the space afforded to them. The distance the southerners could put between one another allowed their words sharpened teeth.

"She murdered him." Corbray said firmly. Val watched Sansa lay her hand over Snow's, keeping him seated.

"Didn't you kill men, not just two days ago? Your queen was protecting herself, how is that any different?" Val asked him. iThese men aren't used to a woman questioning them./i

"That was a siege, I would expect a wildling to know the difference." He spat back. "It's her word against a dead man's." Val was fuming but it was Sansa's voice that spoke first.

"Perhaps our moral codes differ ser," She was using a regal tone, one Val only heard in meetings. "For I would never trade my loyalty for gold or children." Her words made little sense but Corbray paled and took his seat. "We have more pressing matters to discuss." Val was impressed. The fear was still there, Sansa hadn't slept well, Val would have guessed she was dreaming about her kill. The first one was always the hardest to get over.

Sometimes Val noticed the look when Sansa talked. She was trying to take herself out of the moment. Many men had that look before they died. She was still shaken, but had only been a day. Sansa was stronger than people gave her credit for. Val wondered if these kneelers had seen a parent killed before their eyes, she would bet they had not. Their queen was a survivor, she would get through this.

Over the passing weeks Sansa began to immerse herself in the castle. Val was content to live in the comfort of the keep for the time being, for she could go where she pleased by day and night. They had a place designated for training, and Val began to realize that Sansa knew what she was doing. The free-folk were practicing alongside the southern knights, occasionally giving combat suggestions. They were learning more about each other by the day.

Mance and Sansa were getting along surprisingly well. He had taught her how to set bricks along the great walls, it had taken time but Sansa began to delight in the shape the castle began to take once more. In the evenings Val would watch Sansa write letters to the south, requesting their aid in the North. Armies of thousands would be no match. They needed the south.

Val had expected Snow's relationship with Sansa to thrive away from danger, at least for the time being, if she hadn't heard their hushed words she might have believed it was. She had gotten lost in one of the bleaker portions of the castle, already so big and enclosed. She heard Sansa's voice make a suggestion and she meant to walk away when she heard Snow's unexpected response.

"They'll never allow it,"

"I thought a Queen was meant to fight," the problem with Sansa was that she remembered the smallest things people said.

"They'll want you to marry a highborn lord, a knight, even a commoner would be better than a bastard."

"In Dorne the prince was in love with a bastard. He brought her to Kings Landing, and stood proud with her beside him." Sansa was unshaken by the argument. "Besides, you are a prince, a Targaryen as much as you are Stark. We've been through so much, why can't we spend the rest of our days happy, together?" She paused, "unless I don't make you happy."

"You know that's not true."

"So you would rather see me married off to some stranger because of his title?" Her tone was one of genuine curiosity, which intrigued Val.

"I would rather see you married when you are ready to be married. Not to shield yourself from unwanted proposals. You wanted to marry for love, you shouldn't give that up." iHe's scared/i Val thought, it was strange, she hadn't known Snow to be so self-conscious.

Val forced herself to walk away, she had already overheard more than anyone was intended to hear. She would just have to retrace her steps.

Time passed while they waited for word from the south. The snow grew heavier, and repairs to the castle had to stop. The makeshift roof over the great hall would do, and it was where many people were sleeping until they called a march. More often than not Val slept among the free-folk and they would talk of their plans. Sometimes snow would fall through the cracks of the wooden roof, not as sturdily made as the stone above other parts.

Sansa had gotten word from her sickly cousin. She told Val about him before, that she looked after him before she came to the Wall. Sweetrobin, she called him, the man who posed as her father was still alive in a sky cell, whatever that was. "He has committed crimes against Westeros, not just me. I do not want to send him to a king who does not understand the power of his words."

"Then have him brought here," Val stated. She knew Sansa was listening to her, but often she needed to think of every suggestion. That was a difference between them, Val trusted her gut.

"And ask Jon to take another life because I cannot?" Sansa asked. "He killed my aunt, Sweetrobin's mother, shoved her out of the moon-door. I should let Sweetrobin make him fly," she sounded far away. "Frankly I had hoped he would have fallen out of the sky cell by now, but Petyr was too stubborn to let himself die."

Sansa sighed. "He also conspired with my aunt to kill her husband. He is the reason my cousin is parentless, Sweetrobin and his regent should have the right." She looked to Val, "don't you agree?"

"That seems fair," Val agreed, life for a life, a sound argument. Sansa must have agreed for she penned a letter quickly in response. There must have been more than that, Val thought to herself. The Bolton's had taken two Stark lives, and the Starks would take two in returned, perhaps that was why Sansa needed Val's agreement. She did not want to be a vengeful queen, Val had heard all about queens like that.

Bolton's execution was set for the following morning; all of the men who were once stumbling over one another stood to the back of the crowd, save for Mance. As a visiting King he stood alongside Val and Sansa. Though Val suspected things were not resolved between the queen and Snow it didn't escape her notice that Sansa's fingers were laced through his.

They were whispering, if she strained she could have heard them, but it was clear. He was concerned about her, which was no surprise, and she was insisting she could witness this moment. She was gripping his hand so tight Val was sure Sansa's knuckles would be white if she could see them. "You don't even have to watch," she heard Snow say, and Sansa shook her head.

Snow walked in stride with Sansa, that caused quite a stir, Val wasn't sure why. Bolton was bound and forced to his knees. Sansa's crown did not shine the way most crowns did, but it did not need to. If they didn't think her a queen before, surely they would see it now.

She spoke clearly, and slowly. She listed his crimes, and Val watched the horror slowly come across the faces of the onlookers. Had they not understood before? Or were they all sheep who followed the leader of the largest army? It was probably the reason Sansa had agreed to a public execution.

She asked for his last words, but Val couldn't hear them. Snow swung the sword but Sansa remained at his side. When the crowd began to disperse she heard strangers talking about the resemblance, how eerie it was. "They look like Lord and Lady Stark." Mance told her.

"Aren't they?" These kneelers and all their names for themselves.

"Their Queen's parents," he said.

"Do you think so?"

"Aye," Mance began to walk away. "It's no wonder they gave in so quick," he said gesturing to the crowd. "Ned Stark and his wife reborn."

Val glanced back at them as the body was thrown into the fire, a custom she was happy Sansa had taken to heart. It wouldn't do having this man come back for revenge. She wondered if the Lord and Lady Stark were so intent on duty the way she knew Snow and Sansa to be, if the Lady would put her family's justice above all else the way Sansa had. She hoped the Starks taught their children to keep their word.

Sansa had gotten her home back, now it was time to keep her promise. 


	11. Five Tales of Winter

Friendly reminder every chapter has been edited. Some words have been added. You won't be lost if you don't reread, but if you wanted more clarity I tried to add that.

11. Five Tales of Winter

Winter was hard on everyone, and so very long. There were days Sansa would lift her eyes and see the faces around her wasting away. There were not many who stayed but Sansa cut the rations of food early nonetheless, it was impossible to know when it would end, and it would be foolish to go through their supplies in a year.

She worked to restore the castle from the inside out in the meantime. Her body ached each night, but it helped her to sleep. Val and Monster slept in her chambers with her, in her mothers old room. They had been lucky some of the rooms remained undamaged.

Some would ride out for hours and return with stones from fallen keeps to help in the rebuilding of the castle walls. Val would haul wood inside so it could thaw, split it, and let it dry out. Sansa would patch up the gloves, and cloaks with the few women who remained at the castle.

One night as the small group ate their smaller rations nearly six moons after winter truly began something happened. Satin ran into the Lord's solar where they ate. "Your grace, there's something you should see."

His words sparked a panic in her so fierce she hardly stopped to hear Satin tell her she was going the wrong way. The guests had come through the front gates, or what remained. Squires were tending their horses when Sansa recognized their colors, House Manderly. Wyman Manderly had sent a quarter of his army to the North with Jon, claiming he was too old to ride himself yet here he stood.

"My lord," Sansa dipped her head. "Satin, if you would get our guests some wine, and bread; I'm sure their journey was long." Satin nodded but hesitated before leaving her side, he could hear the rustling and shouts from near the horses. Lord Manderly followed her into the entry of the keep.

"Forgive the intrusion your grace. My house has been seeing to something for quite sometime and it finally arrived." He was testing her, seeing if he could make her ask about it, Lord Manderly must not have known of her patience. He cleared his throat. "While the Bolton's fought against Stannis Baratheon we decided it would be prudent to find a rightful heir to Winterfell. That is before you came round." He corrected.

The shouting was more violent, and Sansa would swear she could hear growling. "When Theon Greyjoy took Winterfell they said he killed your brothers, but they lied." Her heart nearly stopped, two of his men were pulling a boy behind them, and it was almost like she had gone back in time.

"Shaggy, Shaggy." He wailed and Sansa turned to Lord Manderly.

"Where is his wolf?"

"Don't you believe it's him?" There was not a doubt in her mind that this little boy was Rickon. He looked near identical to Robb, though his words were broken, and his hair long. "We found him on Skagos, he was traveling with a wildling woman." Rickon continued struggling, and calling for Shaggydog. "He speaks the Old Tongue better than our own."

Sansa walked toward him and knelt to his level. "Rickon," his struggling faltered and he stared at her. "It's Sansa," she wanted to reach for him but hesitated. He had been away for too long, it was unlikely for him to remember her. He would likely be frightened by her, a crying stranger. The guards released him as his struggling slowed, he wrapped his skinny arms around her neck. Her sob echoed in the hall, she saw Satin's steps falter nervously. "You're safe," she whispered into his hair. "You're safe, and you're with me." He clung to her hair and whispered.

"Mama,"

**  
>A full year had passed when the fat maester arrived. Shaggydog tried to nip at his heels each time he crossed his path in the keep, and Rickon would laugh. He apologized when he saw Sansa's stern look, he still acted like he had as a boy, like he did on the island she assumed.<p>

"Maester Samwell?" he nodded. He was startled when she hugged him. "Jon has told me about you, Satin as well. Please," she gestured for him to walk with her. "Thank you for coming."

"Jon... That is Lord Snow said you had need of me here." She led him to her solar and gestured for him to sit.

"I think he worried you would say no," Jon had told her about when he last spoke with Sam. He sent him to Oldtown with the Maester on the Wall, a wildling girl, and Dalla's baby. It didn't sound to Sansa as though he did anything wrong, but Jon seemed to think he needed Sam's forgiveness.

Sansa was thankful for the help going over accounts, and inventory. Having someone agree with her decision to conserve rations until they knew winter would end made her more confident in the decision. What she was most thankful for was the help with Rickon.

Despite her best attempts Rickon still struggled with the common tongue. After the first week Maester Samwell told her he suspected the boy understood more than she realized, it would just take time for him to use it. The only one who could coax him into using the common tongue was Val. Perhaps coax wasn't the right word.

"You're coddling him," she said once to Sansa. "Stark or not he's only known Skagos, we're lucky he isn't trying to eat people." If they were beyond the Wall Rickon would have responsibilities like a man grown, though Sansa hadn't liked the sound of that. Val never had him do anything beyond her own abilities. She would pretend that she didn't understand what he wanted unless he spoke in the common tongue, sometimes he got so frustrated that tantrums came.

Maester Samwell taught his lessons in Sansa's solar while she mended tattered tunics, and breeches. Monster would try to toddle around under Val's eye, his second name day was approaching, and Rickon would try to catch her attention by answering the Maester's questions. It almost felt normal, like Sansa could pretend that the chill of winter hadn't touched Westeros as far south as the Reach. She couldn't afford to pretend, not when Arya still lived and was lost, not while Jon led an army against the others.

Sometimes Satin sat in on lessons, when Rickon was learning to write or read. Learning with someone else helped Rickon focus. One night when he started to doze against Sansa she looked to the Maester. "Do you think it will end?" She pulled Rickon closer to her trying to keep him warm.

"They have a large army," he said. "Men and women from here to Dorne." He was telling her things she already knew. "Oldtown has sent dragon glass, they know who they face."

"That's not an answer." She reminded him sadly, she was no stranger to avoidance, when pressed it usually led to bad news. "I asked if you thought it would end, not if they were prepared."

"There are accounts of winters lasting years your grace. Whether it lasts two years or ten, it's only just begun." He was shaking his head sadly.

"Do you think they'll win?" She wouldn't ask after what she really wanted to know. A queen was concerned for all of her people, not just one man. Yet somehow the maester gave her the answer she needed to hear.

"I think Jon will do whatever he has to do to come back."

**  
>They called the Monster Joramun on his second name day. After the King-Beyond-the-Wall who joined forces with the King in the North to defeat the Nights King. Sansa hoped his name would somehow bring the end of winter. Another had died from the cold, and it filled her with guilt to know that she would not be the last. She wrapped Rickon up extra tight in whatever furs she could find after that, and encouraged Val to do the same. "He's got the North in his bones, both of them do," she replied.<p>

Jora was a soft-spoken little boy, born into unfortunate circumstances, and raised by a woman who was not his mother. Sansa shouldn't have been so surprised that he waited patiently at mealtimes until it was his turn, and fumbled with a spoon to eat the porridge to prove his independence, or that his grey eyes seemed so intent on the answers to his questions. He watched as far away windows were boarded up and asked "why?"

Val's brusque answers didn't satisfy him. "Because," She'd say then go about hauling the fallen stone from the ledge. He looked to Sansa for a real response, she picked him up and gently explained that it kept the cold out. That it was everyone's responsibility to get the castle ready for winter.

The more windows they boarded, the more confined they became. The longer they were in the castle the more irritable Val appeared. The four of them had been sharing the bed, huddled under the furs they still woke up cold but at least they woke up. Val rolled restlessly, huffing, shoving the furs away with her feet.

"Your bed's too soft," Val stated. Sansa sighed, if she kept talking so loud Rickon would wake up. She slid her feet into slippers, wrapped herself in a fur, and walked to her solar. The fire still burned low in there from the day, Sansa sat before it and waited for Val to join her.

"What's really wrong?" She asked, stirring the fire, trying to draw a flicker of heat. Val settled beside her, she didn't wrap any furs around her shoulders, Beyond the Wall it was always cold. Maybe she welcomed the cold, but she certainly wasn't immune to it, Sansa could see gooseflesh blooming across her skin.

"I told you your bed is too soft," Val grumbled at her, taking the poker from her and drawing up a flame.

"You've been sleeping in that bed nearly everyday we've been here. If you'd like you're more than welcome to sleep on the floor." She couldn't imagine Val would take that offer. The bed was comfortable, they were warm. It was more than anyone else could say.

"I hate this," Val said, tossing the poker. "My whole life I could come and go as I please. Now I'm stuck."

"We're all stuck," Sansa could feel her face scrunching.

"No, you belong in this place. I spent my life avoiding places like this. I want the forest, and fires outside. I can't just be here doing the same thing every day. I feel like I'm confined to a cell, everyday it's worse."

"Some day soon you'll be able to walk outside without freezing. I'm sure it's hard for you to be stuck." She remembered being trapped, but it was not the time for that. "You must promise me you won't do anything foolish, like wander out there for long. There are two little boys in that room who need us around." Sansa said gently. "If it makes you feel like you're at home sleep on the cold floor, wander the halls, step into the snow. You're my best friend and I won't have winter take you from me too." Sansa never realized their definitions of freedom differed so much.

***  
>Four years had passed. "Why don't you ever talk about your Lord Crow?" Val asked her while they ate lunch. The question startled Sansa. "I thought women like you mourned while their men were away, tore at their clothes, cried all the time. You don't ever do things like that."<p>

iI have to be brave,/i she wanted to say. "I told myself I couldn't do something like that. Of course I miss him, but I know he'll be back."

iOnce they got word that Dorne was days away from the North the panic in Sansa's stomach set in. She tried her best not to let it show, the last thing anyone needed was her worry combined with their own. Still, she found Jon lacing his fingers through her own as they ate their meals together. She couldn't tell if he was trying to quell her fears or his own, it was a comfort nonetheless.

Since they arrived their days were spent apart, for she focused on the stores, and the main keep; while he focused on the battle at hand. Had she still been the same girl who lived in the keep once before, she might have been distraught. Theirs was not a relationship of public affection, but that didn't mean they lacked affection. Their paths crossed rarely during the day, but when they did Sansa's eyes would meet his, and her heart would beat just a bit faster.

Their nights though, they made up for the time lost. Sometimes she would just lean against him while she patched together fur-lined cloaks, and he would help her put together accounts. While he sent for Maester Samwell in Oldtown she began to stitch a favor for him.

Other nights she found herself laying beside him, beneath him, astride him, pressing herself as close to him as their bodies would permit. He would only touch her through her gown. At first she had been disappointed, she wanted everything with Jon. She finally found someone she trusted with all of her, and he wouldn't /idishonori her. When she stepped out of the moment she understood what his words wouldn't say. He didn't want to leave her with a bastard in her belly, unsure of his return from the true war ahead.

It was hard to imagine anything better than his hands on her. Even through her gown she could feel the shape of his hands, leaving imprints on her skin. His mouth would drag up her neck, and sometimes by day she would swear she could still feel it on her.

The day he left they sat in his chambers, the ones that were once her father's, in silence. It would not do to have a tearful goodbye where anyone could see. She had to show her confidence in the effort, and weeping would not reflect confidence. Here in her father's chambers, Jon's chambers, she was free to weep the way a lady would for her lord. He brushed the tears from her cheeks but did not console her as he had before they had taken back Winterfell.

"I need you to be brave for me Sansa," he said softly. "Just for a bit longer, if I-" he hesitated, "-when I come back we will only have spring." He was saying it as a kindness to her, he wouldn't talk about not returning, no matter how likely it was.

"When you come back," she affirmed. "These chambers will truly be yours," they already were. She suspected he harbored the same guilt she did in sleeping in her parents old rooms. As they readied for their march she gave him the favor she had worked so hard to perfect, and he kissed her cheek, their true goodbyes already spoken. "Until you come back," she said again and he nodded. /i

**  
>"There's horses coming!" Rickon called out. Val raised her eyes to look at Sansa. Ever since Maester Samwell had read the letter, Jon's letter, Rickon had been calling out for horses. It had been nearly two moon's turn, no one had ridden to the gates yet.<p>

Winter had lasted nearly six years. Rickon's japing seemed to be a permanent part of his nature, only encouraged by Val and Satin. Once the ice began to thaw Satin had taken him to learn the basics of sword fighting. The few who remained helped Sansa in the effort to restore the castle to its former glory, building walls from mismatched stones from fallen keeps.

Who was to say she would still be called Queen when they returned? Rickon was the rightful heir. If they took that title at least she would have this. She would be the Stark who rebuilt Winterfell. They wouldn't have to write songs about her grace, or beauty. Her legacy would be here, in the walls, she would never leave this castle.

Rickon was running through the halls, Jora chasing after him as quick as he could, and Shaggydog trailing behind. "Did you hear me? Horses are coming!" He looked more like Robb every day, but the mischief was all Rickon.

"You say that every day," Val reminded him. "Do you remember what I told you before?"

Val had to intervene once when Sansa had gotten to her feet faster than she imagined she was capable of. She ran to the gate, slippers sliding across the stone, and stood to wait. The wind started to bite at her cheeks before the Maester had come to lead her back inside. She had felt as foolish then as she did now when she remembered it.

Val was never the disciplinarian of the two. Val was always the fun one who came up with exhausting tasks that made the boys laugh but sleep easy and through the night once they were done. Perhaps that was why Rickon had taken her so seriously.

"That no one would believe me when it really happens, but it's really happening." He insisted. Sansa turned to Jora, Rickon's second shadow.

"Jora," She knelt down to look in his eyes. "Are there really horses."

"They're holding banners! There's a shield, and a fish, and a sun, and dragons!" He listed, his grey eyes going wide remembering it.

Of course there would be dragons. The King on the iron throne was a Targaryen, and according to Jon true dragons had appeared. Three of them, and a woman. She had sacrificed herself when the dragons became unmanageable.

She hadn't had to count to collect herself in so long, but her body took over. iFive, four,/i they're back, ithree, two,/i and safe ione/i. "Jora, I need you to go and get Maester Sam, as quick as you can go." His brow furrowed determinedly and he took off down the hall.

"I'm faster!" Rickon called to her, he had a look she often saw on Arya's face.

"You are going to find Satin, bring him to the gates." Rickon liked Satin much more than the Maester. "And then to the kitchens, we have rations to spare. Those riding back will likely be hungry." Set with his task Rickon went to find Satin first.

She looked down at her gown, "I should change," she said mostly to herself. Then stopped, her gowns were all work-worn, "I'm being foolish."

"Well it would be about time." She glared at Val. "You were only walking in that, it's fine. Come along." Val guided her briskly to the gates where they met with Maester Samwell. Once he received word that the battle was done he wrote for Gilly, under Sansa's urging, and she would see Val with Dalla's boy.

Ser Brynden's hair was more grey than it was before he left but he was no more frail than she was. Lord Royce was unchanged, if only for the dark look of a man who had seen more than his days would allow. Ghost had found Shaggydog in an instant. Val guided Rickon to her, but lingered behind her. Sansa reached for Rickon's hand and he gave her a worried look. She smiled at him iit's ok,/i she wanted to say but she couldn't get her voice to work.

Jon rode under the dragon banner alongside his half-brother. Jon could not have looked more unlike Aegon. When he first arrived at their broken keep he looked every bit as she imagined a king would. Yet as soon as she saw Jon she could not drag her eyes away. He climbed off his horse and was before her in nearly the blink of an eye.

He held her shoulders in his hands, still a polite distance from her, farther than she would like. His hands dragged down her arms to clasp her own. "Your grace," his voice was softer than she could have imagined, more intent than she had remembered. She had seen the dark look in his eyes before, it called a blush to rise up her chest. iNot yet/i she said, urging Rickon forward. Jon's eyes finally left hers.

She knew he saw Robb first, how could he not? They were a mix of old reminders, and perhaps some day the ache would lessen when she looked at her younger brother and thought of the older one lost, the same way he absently reached for her sometimes like he once had their mother.

"Aegon believes that an alliance is necessary." Jon said as she curled beside him. After they had eaten, after he had bathed, after she had seen Rickon to bed, she found him. She had hardly been in the solar for a minute before his mouth was on hers.

"An alliance?" Jon dragged his mouth from hers and pressed a kiss to her jawline. iHe would not try to take the North by force, that was unexpected/i. "How does he hope to do that? Why would the North take his word?"

"It wouldn't be through his word," Jon said softly into her throat. "It would be through a marriage." She pulled away from him, as though she'd been burned. She would not marry Aegon. Not when her feelings hadn't changed. When Jon's obviously hadn't. "I would understand if you changed your mind," he pulled his eyes from hers. "I'm sure he would agree to something else."

"Jon, why would you think I would accept his proposal?" iWhy would you agree to such a meeting with a woman your half-brother wanted to propose to?/i His eyes downcast, a crease formed between his brow, iunless./i

"Of course," he nodded. He rose and walked across the room, the distance was palpable. She called to him and he froze, hand gripping the ledge.

"Look at me Jon," she moved to stand before him. "You were not asking on behalf of Aegon were you?" His eyes pulled up to hers, wide in realization.

"No," his words ghosted across her lips, the barest of smiles beginning to take shape.

"Ask me again."

And in the end Sansa had married for duty, but she married for love first. In the end she had a choice.

End Notes: Everybody lives and everybody's happy, because that's what fic is for! Thank you all for the follows, reviews, favorites, and support!


End file.
